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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850584">a fortune i couldn't foresee</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spadebrigade/pseuds/spadebrigade'>spadebrigade</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fortune [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Almost), (oh my god they were roommates), Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bokuto Koutarou &amp; Kuroo Tetsurou Friendship, Brokuto, Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, College, Everyone Is Gay, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hinata Shouyou &amp; Kozume Kenma Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Kozume Kenma, POV Alternating, Pining, Roommates, YouTuber Kozume Kenma, brief kurotsuki but it ends in the first chapter, kuroo is an idiot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:29:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850584</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spadebrigade/pseuds/spadebrigade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth was, Kuroo didn’t really mind their fortune cookie tradition, but the process had some flaws: 1) He did not like fortune cookies. They were dry, bland, and sweet at the same time. Like sugar-coated cardboard, and basically a waste of calories. 2) The fortunes were horrible. The advice was stupid, not to mention, completely obvious. He’d once gotten a fortune that said, “Tomorrow is another day.” Well, no shit.</p><p>Another reason Kuroo didn’t get Kenma’s insistence on this tradition was that Kenma didn’t like the fortunes, either. But he did like the cookies: Kenma ate his own before reaching over and stealing Kuroo’s cookie crumbs, dropping them into his mouth.</p><p>Kuroo watched Kenma’s little pink tongue slide over his lips to catch the fallen cookie remnants. </p><p>He forgot what he was about to say.</p><p>///</p><p>Kuroo is a hot mess. He really shouldn’t be: he’s about to graduate from college with a near-perfect GPA and he’s part of an amazing volleyball team. The problem? He’s in love with his best friend/roommate, who doesn’t know he exists. And he’ll do <i>anything</i> to distract himself.</p><p>Kenma’s problem? He’s in love with a hot mess.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fortune [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657177</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>529</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The flower cannot bloom in the desert.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello! please note that this story contains swearing, themes of mental illness, alcohol abuse, and sexual references (but no smut).</p><p>in all honesty, kuroo’s alcohol abuse is NOT addressed properly, so please do not use this fic as a good example of how to recover from it or how to treat a loved one struggling with this type of issue. always seek help from licensed medical professionals.</p><p>if you’re okay with all that, then please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lamppost flickered in the dark alley behind the gymnasium. A moth fluttered around it, trying to land, only to back away again, the light’s surface too hot for its feet. Every time it flinched back, it was drawn to the yellow glow once more.</p><p>Standing beneath the lamppost was Tetsurou Kuroo, who was attempting to sneakily wrap his arms around Kei Tsukishima’s waist.</p><p>“Come on, Tsukki.” Kuroo grinned, leaning into his personal space. “You know you can’t resist me~”</p><p>“Actually, I can.” Tsukishima replied, his voice dripping in annoyance as he lightly pushed Kuroo away. “...Though I haven’t in the past.”</p><p>Kuroo wasn’t letting up. After his hands were pushed off, he used one to casually lean against the brick wall that Tsukki’s back was glued to. “Last time, we nearly broke your bed—”</p><p>“Kuroo, please.” Tsukishima crossed his arms. The ‘please’ was less of a question and more of a demand. “You know this isn’t healthy.”</p><p>“What ever do you mean?” He asked innocently. “We get in a lot of <em> exercise.” </em>His breath came out in a light puff, which under normal circumstances might have made Tsukki’s pupils go wide. But this time, Kuroo was only gifted with a sharp glare.</p><p>“This…’relationship’, if you could call it that—” Tsukishima rolled his eyes, “—is not going to work. We can’t just act like everything is fine at practice and then maul each other. Especially since you insist on getting drunk while we do it.”</p><p>“Oh, you know I’m just having a little fun.” If he smiled charmingly enough, could he get what he wanted? “I see no problem.”</p><p>Tsukishima scoffed. “That’s the problem.”</p><p>“So what if we go a little rough?” Kuroo asked, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “I thought you liked that.”</p><p>“It’s less about the physical aspect of it and more about the mental part.”</p><p>The last thing Kuroo wanted was a lecture. “Oh, come on—”</p><p>“I think we’d be better off the way we were before this started. Just practicing together.” Tsukishima pulled away from the wall, away from Kuroo.</p><p>He couldn’t just let Tsukki get away. He <em> needed </em> this. “But there’s no one like you, Tsukki.” The desperation in his own voice made him sick. Those words weren’t true.</p><p>And Tsukishima knew it, too. “Go home to Kenma. I’m sure he’s waiting for you.” He turned away, footsteps echoing against the pavement.</p><p>Kuroo was left alone in the quiet night, his only companion the fucking moth that hadn’t dropped dead yet.</p><p>“Shit. <em> Fuck!” </em> He kicked a nearby trash can.</p><p>What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Tsukishima had been a great lay—it was nice to not have to go off with strangers for company, spend half the time figuring out their weak spots and then sneak off in the middle of the night like a fucking burglar. With Tsukki, at least he knew where to aim his teeth, where to let his hands loose. He didn’t mind getting scratches on his back in return and it wasn’t like it made practice awkward. Hell, when it came to volleyball, it was like nothing else ever happened between them. Tsukishima was cold, sarcastic. The way he was with everyone else. And maybe Kuroo <em> was </em> an asshole for using Tsukishima like that, but he knew he was being used right back. They both got what they wanted, but Tsukki didn’t fucking want him now.</p><p>He dragged his feet out of the alley, wondering if he should hit up a bar on the way home. But rather than feeling excited by the prospect of a cool glass of hard liquor, he just felt empty. Which meant that there was only one place to go.</p><p>“I’m home,” Kuroo announced one train ride later, toe-ing off his shoes in the hallway of their cramped apartment.</p><p>“Welcome home.” Kenma said from the couch, curled under a blanket. As he spoke, his eyes never left his phone screen. “You’re early, aren’t you?” </p><p>It was only nine o’clock, truly unheard of when Kuroo had made it his mission to spend his nights in bars or other people’s beds.</p><p>“My night didn’t go as planned,” Kuroo said, leaning over Kenma’s shoulder to see what game he was playing. “Do we have any food?”</p><p>“I ordered Chinese.”</p><p>“What an angel.” Kuroo let out a sigh as he stretched his arms. The movement returned some of the feeling to his limbs and earned him Kenma’s glance, for a moment. “I’m gonna shower.”</p><p>“‘Kay.”</p><p>That was about as chatty as Kenma got on the average night. Best friends from childhood and roommates for three years, they didn’t need to say much to understand each other. On pretty much every night of the week, they’d have dinner together, study together. But they generally spent their weekends apart. It was inevitable: Kuroo wanted to go out and have a wild time, Kenma wanted to stay in. It wasn’t strange for Kuroo to come home at 2 AM fucked up, or not at all until the next afternoon. No matter what he did, it never seemed to make much difference to Kenma.</p><p>And why had Tsukishima brought up Kenma anyway? Kuroo replayed their conversation in the shower. <em> Go home to Kenma. I’m sure he’s waiting for you… </em> Since when had Kenma ever waited for him? Kenma hardly ever noticed him, always up at all hours of the night playing whatever game captured his attention. It had nothing to do with Kuroo.</p><p>His hand found the knob for hot water, turning up the temperature. Steamy water hit his back like bullets, burning the red scratches that Tsukki had left nearly a week ago. Instead of flinching, Kuroo soaked up the pain, deserving of the punishment.</p><p>After scrubbing himself all over with soap, he decided that he wasn’t even feeling a pity jerk-off tonight. His hand reached out beyond the shower curtain, expecting to find a fluffy bath towel, only to find empty air. “Ah, fuck. Forgot my towel.”</p><p>He had to compromise. Moments later, Kuroo padded out of the shower in an extra hand towel that covered only up to his thighs. Not an ideal way to be walking around, but it was fine because only Kenma would see him.</p><p>“Food’s here,” Kenma informed him from the kitchen, unpacking plastic bags. When he turned to face Kuroo, he paused. </p><p>Kuroo could feel his eyes travel down his abs to his toned legs. The silence was brief but landed thickly. Suddenly nervous, his mouth went dry. Was Kenma staring?</p><p>Kenma’s eyes finally left his body, returning to the food. “—You’re dripping water everywhere.”</p><p>Ah, so that’s what it was. Kenma was worried about getting the floor wet. </p><p>Kuroo was stupid for thinking it was anything else. He snorted out loud. “Yes, boss.” He disappeared into his room to change.</p><p>When he reappeared in sweatpants and a T-shirt, Kenma was sitting at the table, looking at him impatiently.</p><p>He clicked his tongue, sitting down. “I always tell you to start without me.”</p><p>“And I never do.” Kenma passed him a fortune cookie. “We have to open our fortunes. It’s tradition.”</p><p>Kuroo never understood why Kenma was so insistent on some traditions over others. Movie night and opening fortune cookies were “essential,” but trying to stick boba straws up their noses was “weird” and “I’m not doing that, Kuro. What’s wrong with you?” </p><p>The truth was, Kuroo didn’t really mind their fortune cookie tradition, but the process had some flaws: 1) He did not like fortune cookies. They were dry, bland, and sweet at the same time. Like sugar-coated cardboard, and basically a waste of calories. 2) The fortunes were horrible. The advice was stupid, not to mention, completely obvious. He’d once gotten a fortune that said, “Tomorrow is another day.” Well, no shit.</p><p>Kuroo crushed his cookie in between his fingers, pulling out the strip of paper. “‘The flower cannot bloom in the desert.’ Wow, fucking helpful. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I decide to bring my petunias to the Sahara.”</p><p>Kenma snorted, neatly breaking his cookie in two. “‘Expect the unexpected.’ I wonder if that means that Lev will be coming over soon.”</p><p>Another reason Kuroo didn’t get Kenma’s insistence on this tradition was that Kenma didn’t like the fortunes, either. But he did like the cookies: Kenma ate his own before reaching over and stealing Kuroo’s cookie crumbs, dropping them into his mouth.</p><p>Kuroo watched Kenma’s little pink tongue slide over his lips to catch the fallen cookie remnants. </p><p>He forgot what he was about to say.</p><p>But a lifetime of secret pining taught him to stay on his toes. “...Aren’t they all kind of obvious?”</p><p>He got a shrug in return before Kenma passed over a takeout container. Out came the chopsticks, and soon, the chicken and dumplings disappeared.</p><p>As their meal dwindled down, Kenma looked thoughtful, tucking back a strand of half-bleached hair that had fallen out of his ponytail. “Say, do you have plans for tomorrow?” </p><p>“I don’t know...” came the reply as Kuroo fiddled with a piece of rice. Kenma didn’t usually ask him about his Saturday plans. “Why?”</p><p>“There’s this new video game store opening.” Kenma said. “And they’re supposed to have some cool rigs.”</p><p>He smiled teasingly. “It must be cool if it gets you out of the apartment.”</p><p>Kenma scoffed, his cheeks tinting a light pink. Seeing him blush was a rare sight and Kuroo adored the color on him. How could he say no?</p><p>“...Okay, I’ll come. But I’m not buying you another gaming system.”</p><p> </p><p> ♤ </p><p> </p><p>The next day, Kuroo found himself standing in an endless line of people stretching from the door’s entrance. “You didn’t mention that there’d be <em> a billion </em> people here.” </p><p>Kenma shrugged. “If I did, then you wouldn’t want to come with me.”</p><p>He could feel his face twitching. “Fuckin’ <em> obviously.”  </em></p><p>On another day, he wouldn’t have minded, but Saturdays were one of the precious few days of the week that he could blow off steam. If he stayed out too late, then he’d miss his chance to hang out with his drinking buddies, and possibly get laid.</p><p>“How sad,” Kenma deadpanned, pulling out his phone. “The line shouldn’t take more than an hour.”</p><p>“An hour?!” He thought they’d be <em> in and out </em> of the store in an hour, not waiting to get <em> inside </em>for an hour.</p><p>“That’s what I said.”</p><p>Kuroo sighed, rubbing his temples. Just when he was about to utter another snide remark, he felt a pin-sized splash on his face. “Was that—”</p><p>Another raindrop came down, leading an army of water warriors down upon them.</p><p>“Fuck, where’s the umbrella?”</p><p>Kenma blinked. “I thought you had it.”</p><p>“You thought I—” Kuroo cut himself off with a groan, shrugging off his jacket. “Fuck.”</p><p>Bewildered, Kenma stepped back. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Come here.” He pulled Kenma into his side, using the jacket as a tent to shield them from the rain. “This will have to do.”</p><p>The touch was normal. After all, they spent most nights on their small couch together. Silent, legs brushing from the proximity. So why did he have to fight a blush from hitting his ears when he could feel Kenma’s warmth right beneath his arm?</p><p>“At least people are leaving,” Kenma pointed out, not noticing Kuroo’s internal dilemma as groups of people left gaps in the line in front of them.</p><p>“I wish I was with them.” </p><p>He didn’t even bother to ask if Kenma wanted to leave, because he knew the answer. He knew <em> Kenma. </em> If the introvert had decided that getting wet wasn’t worth the trip, then they would have been on their way home already.</p><p>When they finally got to the store’s entrance, a little over thirty minutes had passed and they were soaked, even with the makeshift protection of the jacket. Kuroo didn’t have time to complain before Kenma spotted a game station and ran over to it, eyes sparkling. He couldn’t say anything now, could he?</p><p>He stood in the distance, leaning against a wall, jacket hanging from his arms as he watched Kenma play. </p><p>Kenma’s hair was tucked into a loose ponytail, thumbs flying across the controller, that sharp look of focus reserved only for screens, and the nimble edge of his tongue peeking from his lips—</p><p>Someone walked past, obscuring his view. </p><p>Then Kuroo remembered where he was: in public, staring at his best friend. Seeing a tall blond in glasses walk by, he was surprised that he’d already forgotten about Tsukki.</p><p>Hadn’t it just happened yesterday? Why wasn’t he more upset? Really, it was kind of a miracle that he was out with Kenma, in daylight, instead of napping until dark when he could hit up a bar without being shamed for day drinking. Instead of downing shots and purring to the closest person with his best pickup line and looking for more excuses to hate himself.</p><p>“That guy beat me,” Kenma mumbled upon returning to Kuroo’s side. He glared at the offender who was still playing, cheeks puffed slightly. Cheeks that were so damn kissable, but Kuroo kept his lips to himself.</p><p>“Want to play me so you can win?” When it came to video games, he was mediocre at best.</p><p>“Shut up,” Kenma said playfully. “You don’t have to boost my confidence just because you suck.”</p><p>Off they went to another station, this time a dance game with tiles to step on.</p><p>“I thought you said I’d win this one,” Kenma huffed after a third round of “boo”s from the machine.</p><p>“Maybe if you came out clubbing with me once in a while, you’d know how to dance.”</p><p>“Could you really imagine me in a nightclub?”</p><p>Kuroo pressed his eyes shut, rubbing his chin. He tried to imagine Kenma in a nightclub, scowling at the loud music, skirting around the edges of the bar to be as far away from other people as possible. And forget about dancing.</p><p>He hummed thoughtfully. “Not alive.”</p><p>Kenma rolled his eyes, but Kuroo caught that ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.</p><p>They browsed the other games for about an hour and took pictures of the different rigs for Kenma’s vlog until the gamer announced that he was bored. Ever the gentleman, Kuroo picked up an overpriced Nintendo umbrella, choosing the one with the loudest colors to purposely bother Kenma and make them stick out in the rain.</p><p>Kenma frowned in distaste. “Did you have to pick the one with Princess Peach on it?”</p><p>“She’s a bad bitch.”</p><p>“You make no sense.”</p><p>But Kuroo could pick out that smile again, even though Kenma was looking away. And all of a sudden he couldn’t feel the rain anymore, just a warmth that seeped out from his bones to the tips of his fingers.</p><p>That nice feeling faded by the next morning when he discovered that he had a fever.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>just a general note: this story was originally published chapter-by-chapter in 2020, between february and june. about a year later, in 2021, i’ve decided to edit the whole thing :) if you’re here for the first time, welcome! and if you were here for the original run, then welcome back &lt;3</p><p>feel free to drop a comment, and thank you for reading !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Excuses are easy to manufacture and hard to sell.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>kuroo is sick (in general, and of himself), kenma is hiding something, and bokuto...is brokuto</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kuroo woke up to find himself sweating. Which was strange, because he was also shivering. But before he could think too hard about it, his head fell back against the pillow and he plummeted into a dreamless sleep.</p><p>When he finally felt something resembling consciousness, he realized that he would rather pass away then move his arm three feet to look at his phone and check the time. Luckily, he didn’t have to.</p><p>Kenma popped his head into the room. “Are you still asleep? It’s almost one o’clock.”</p><p>Just as he was in the process of coming up with a witty answer, he felt a groan escape his mouth. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was—his throat dared to close up on him.</p><p>He couldn’t see Kenma, but he could feel the other’s eyebrows furrowing together. A hand appeared, tenderly pressing against his forehead. “You’re burning up.” A fact, but one laced with concern and a hint of surprise.</p><p>Kenma disappeared, and Kuroo was sure that he was left to die alone. That was, until a moment later, when Kenma reappeared and urged him to sit up and take some Tylenol.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said, voice raspy with sleep, emptying the glass of water that accompanied the pills.</p><p>“I hope it’s not serious,” Kenma mumbled, sitting at the edge of his bed.</p><p>“Fuck, Kenma. It’s <em> Monday.” </em> He’d already missed his morning class—he must have slept through his alarm.</p><p>“Stay in bed.” Kenma looked ready to strap Kuroo down to the mattress if he didn’t comply.</p><p>“..Fine.”</p><p>A long silence lapsed between them as they looked at each other. Without any words, Kuroo knew what Kenma really wanted to say. And Kenma knew that he knew.</p><p>
  <em> ‘I’m sorry for dragging you into the rain and making you sick.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘It’s fine.’ </em>
</p><p>But there were still thoughts and feelings present that they were both ignorant of, that they didn’t exchange. Feelings that even childhood friends couldn’t recognize in one another.</p><p>
  <em> ‘I just wanted to spend some with you. I miss you.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘I’d do anything for you. Even get caught in the rain.’ </em>
</p><p>They both pretended everything was normal. Kuroo went back to sleep, and Kenma made him some hot rice porridge.</p><p>“Wow, you did this just for me?~” Kuroo said teasingly, nestling the steaming bowl over his knees. “It smells good.”</p><p>“It’s just rice porridge, Kuro. I can handle that much.”</p><p>A small smile spread over his face. “Thanks.”</p><p>Sure, his body was still in at least three different types of pain, but it was hard to not be happy when his crush made him a home-cooked meal. The most plain-looking one in existence, with no heart-shaped fruits on the side, but he’d take what he could get. Breakfast made him feel stronger, and Kenma convinced him to have a shower and change his clothes.</p><p>Showering <em> did </em> make him feel better, but unfortunately for Kenma, it failed to make Kuro any less annoying.</p><p>“My hair is wet,” Kuroo whined, running his fingers through the now-slicked-back strands. “How am I supposed to get better like this?”</p><p>Kenma sat on the couch, not looking up from his laptop. “Dry it.”</p><p>“I’m so tiiiiiiired. You dry it for me.” He sniffed loudly.</p><p>Kenma puffed his cheeks. And to Kuroo’s surprise, he said, “Fine.”</p><p>Kuroo sat up straighter. “Wait, really?” He’d been half joking.</p><p>But Kenma was serious. “Bring me the hair dryer.”</p><p>Kuroo nearly stumbled over himself, practically running to fetch the hair dryer from his room before Kenma could change his mind. When he handed it over, he grinned, as though passing over a trophy. </p><p>“Sit.” Kenma was never one to mince words.</p><p>With Kenma seated on the couch, Kuroo sat on the floor in front of him. The ruckus of the dryer drowned out his pleased hums as Kenma went to work. He did so slowly, moving each section of hair so no water could hide between the strands. He hadn’t made anyone dry his hair like this since he was a kid. He’d forgotten what these kinds of touches felt like: intimate, but innocent. His own hands so often traveled to more sensitive regions.</p><p>"You're being so nice to me." He said teasingly, almost afraid to do so in case Kenma decided to stop.</p><p>"Well, you're always taking care of me," Kenma mumbled. </p><p>Kuroo couldn't see, but he was sure that the other was hiding his face in the way that he always did when he was embarrassed. Sentimentality wasn't their thing: sincerity was for people who didn't know each other, who needed to be clear in order to be understood. But they could hold conversations from across the room with just their eyes.</p><p>When Kenma was done drying his hair, Kuroo laid on the couch and plopped his head onto the other’s lap. It wasn’t exactly normal behavior for him, but if Kenma asked, then he’d say that he deserved special treatment because he was sick. But really, he just wanted to feel more of Kenma’s sweet touches.</p><p>Kenma clicked his tongue, a noise of non-genuine annoyance, before complying, running his fingers through Kuroo’s now-fluffed-up hair. </p><p>Kuroo loved Kenma’s small, soft hands. He remembered remarking once, when they were kids, that Kenma had girl hands. (When he said that these days, Kenma would jokingly counter with “No, they’re nonbinary hands.”) </p><p>Kenma’s hands were always cold in winter, even with gloves on. But now they held a faint warmth, tracing lines gently over his scalp. Kuroo closed his eyes, feeling the tension slowly leaving his muscles. His hair being played with felt better than a massage: he could have fallen asleep right then and there.</p><p>“...Kuro,” Kenma said quietly, voice tinged with uncertainty.</p><p>Kuroo didn’t answer. He felt that if he replied, if he even moved, the moment would be over and the magical aura would melt away. He didn’t want Kenma to push him off, so he pretended to be asleep. </p><p>A moment passed by. Kenma’s fingers paused, still entwined in his hair.</p><p>“...Why are you always breaking my heart?” It was barely a whisper. The question was so soft that he could’ve imagined it. </p><p>It wasn’t meant to be answered, he knew. He wasn’t meant to hear it at all, and it pulled his heart into his stomach. <em> Him? </em> Breaking <em> Kenma’s </em> heart? If only Kenma knew.</p><p>How could he break Kenma’s heart when he was the one who so often fawned over his beloved pudding-head but couldn’t get a text back? How was he the heartbreaker when he always lost Kenma’s attention to a video game or a Youtube video in the making? What had Kuroo ever done to deserve such an <em> accusation? </em></p><p>Kenma kept playing with his hair, but it didn’t feel as nice. It was almost as though Kenma's fingers moved out of obligation, circling too carefully in his hair, robotically gentle. </p><p>Any sense of relaxation he’d been feeling vanished. The feeling of fingers in his hair was almost overstimulating, and he could only bring himself to stand it for ten minutes. Then, ever the faker, he pretended to wake up, and stretched. Before Kenma could say anything else, he muttered a vague excuse and retreated into his room, pulling out his phone to dial Bokuto.</p><p>“Yo,” he greeted after just two rings, plopping down in his bed and running his hand along his clean bed sheets. Kenma had changed them while he was in the shower. “I can’t come to practice tomorrow. I’m sick.”</p><p>“What?” Bokuto asked in concern. Kuroo heard shuffling, then the click of a door closing. “If this is about Tsukishima—”</p><p>He was so surprised that he broke out into a laugh. “Tsukki?" As if he'd actually skip practice just to avoid his junior. "No, no. I’m actually sick.” He told Bokuto about his little trip with Kenma and the near-thunderstorm they’d gotten caught in. “Should get better pretty fast but I don’t want to risk it.”</p><p>“Yeah, rest up so you can get your ass back to practice ASAP,” Bokuto said, before pausing. “Are you sure you’re not...heartbroken?”</p><p>Kuroo scoffed. “Me? Heartbroken?” He moved on from relationships so fast that there was no time to grieve the old ones. And he was about to say so, until he remembered Kenma’s whispered question. “That’s impossible.”</p><p>Bokuto was unconvinced. “Your thing with Tsukki was pretty obvious. I mean, the hickeys—”</p><p>“Bokuto—”</p><p>The owl wouldn’t allow himself to be interrupted. “Were you guys competing to see who could give the most?”</p><p>Kuroo groaned in embarrassment, unable to say <em> yeah, </em> that was pretty much what they’d done. “Can we stop talking about this? I’m over it.”</p><p>“Hmm, okay. Good, good.”</p><p>It was always so obvious when Bokuto was thinking: Kuroo could practically hear the wheels in his head turning over the phone. “What?”</p><p>“Well, maybe now you and Kenma—”</p><p>“Me and Kenma?” Kuroo felt his ears heat up. It had always been ‘me and Kenma’ but it wasn’t the same ‘me and Kenma’ that Bokuto was referring to. “There is no ‘me and Kenma’.”</p><p>“Oh come on, bro! It’s so obvious.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Bokuto scoffed. “You’re fucking with me.”</p><p>“I’m not!”</p><p>“Kuroo!” Bokuto exclaimed. “I don’t know how you can call ME a dumbass when you can’t even realize that you’re head over heels for this guy.”</p><p>Bokuto was never going to give this up. He bristled. “I’ll see you at practice.”</p><p>“Wait—”</p><p>
  <em> Click.  </em>
</p><p>It was true that he didn’t need to take his frustrations out on Bokuto. Hell, the guy had a point. </p><p>But Kuroo couldn’t admit that he was in love with Kenma, that he always had been. Because, if he was in love with his best friend...then what good would come of it? It’s not like Kenma had ever shown any sign of being interested in him. And Kuroo knew for a fact that Kenma was at least sort of interested in guys: he was unashamed to share which BL games he played or what male celebrities he found attractive. And though Kenma was hard to read, he was always straightforward about his feelings.</p><p>So if he did feel the same way, why had he never said anything? It could only be that...he never felt that way. Nothing else made sense.</p><p> </p><p>♤ </p><p> </p><p>Kuroo awoke the next morning to a series of texts:</p><p>
  <b>[Text from: baekuto - 7:30 AM] kuroooooooooo</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[7:30 AM] i’m sorrrrryyyyy</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[7:32 AM] pls don’t be mad at me :((((((</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[7:32 AM] o shit ur probably asleep</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[8:05 AM] im comin over later</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[8:05 AM] we need 2 talk!!! &gt;:(</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[8:11 AM] ill bring u food</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[8:12 AM] so u better let me in!!!</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[8:14 AM] fuckin (W_･ ) lookin ass</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[8:15 AM]  &lt;3 \(ovo)/ &lt;3</b>
</p><p>It was about an hour since Bokuto had sent his last message. He snorted, in a mixture of exasperation and amusement that only Bo could get out of him. Bokuto was a total dumbass, but it was hard not to love him. Besides, Kuroo knew that his friend wasn’t the one he was truly upset with. He was mostly mad at himself.</p><p>Unfortunately, he’d be the only one dealing with Bo’s wrath, because he was home alone. Though he didn’t even know what he would say to Kenma if his roommate had been home. That lone statement, <em> You’re always breaking my heart, </em> still rang in his ears. </p><p>At least he wasn’t going to be in class today. He’d decided to stay home an extra day to recover from his cold, and had already emailed his professors about it. (His professors all adored him, in part because he was a good student and because he was a professional ass-kisser.) So he stayed in bed with leftover rice porridge and did some homework.</p><p>He was minding his own business, peacefully taking notes and chewing on his pen until around noon when that familiar, merciless banging assaulted his door. </p><p>“Hey hey hey, sick boy! Ramen delivery.”</p><p>He groaned, debating whether he should ignore the eccentric owl and take a nap or get up in his tired state and answer the door. The decision was made for him when his phone began to ring in addition to the banging. </p><p>“♪ Hooooot ~ hoot hoot ♪♫ hooty hooty hooooo~ ♫♪”</p><p>It had been funny at the time, but making Bokuto’s ringtone just as annoying as he was clearly wasn’t a good decision.</p><p>“All right!” he exclaimed, ripping off the covers and practically stomping to the door, flinging it open. “Damn it, Bokuto. You’re so fuckin’ loud.”</p><p>“That’s what Akaashi says in bed,” Bokuto quipped, inviting himself inside. He somehow managed to hold two plastic bags along with his phone (which had finally stopped dialing Kuroo’s) and a styrofoam cup. “Got you some ginger tea because I’m the best fuckin’ friend there is.”</p><p>“Hmph.” He grunted, his grumpy version of a ‘thank you’ as he took the cup. “Since you’re here, you might as well stay.”</p><p>“Like you could get me to leave!” Bokuto proceeded to make himself at home in the kitchen, unloading plastic containers on the table. “Come on, tsundere, let’s eat. I’m fuckin’ starving.”</p><p>It was one of the rare occasions when Kuroo was wary of his friend. As simple-minded as he could be at times, Bo had the kind of wisdom that you’d find in the crazy kings of old Shakespeare plays. Like he’d rant about slaying armies one moment and the intricacies of facing our own mortalities the next. </p><p>Maybe this was why he was studying psychology, Kuroo figured. Fuckin’ basket cases were all around him, himself included.</p><p>“Professors are wild, bro,” Bokuto said around a mouthful of noodles. Kuroo had no idea how he could eat like that and talk at the same time without spewing food everywhere. “I might care about velocity if he gave more questions about volleyballs, but it’s all about trains and shit.”</p><p>“You know, you could just pretend that the trains in the problems are volleyballs.” He countered with an amused smirk.</p><p>“You mean like you pretend you’re not in love with Kenma?”</p><p>That comment, and how casual it was, made him choke. <em> “Bokuto.” </em></p><p>“What?” he asked, slurping up more noodles. “I’m not backing down from what I said last night.”</p><p>His brain was already coming up with excuses to get himself, or Bokuto, out of the apartment. “I thought you were sorry?”</p><p>Bo puffed out his chest stubbornly. “I’m sorry you were mad. But I’m not sorry for being right.”</p><p>“That’s not an apology!” How was he even friends with this bastard?</p><p>Bokuto laughed in his usual way: loud, with his shoulders thrown back, like a madman. “Too bad! You needed to hear it.”</p><p>He rubbed his temples. There was no way he was winning this one. But he had to try anyway. “Not everyone is like you and Akaashi, you know. We don’t all fall in love with our friends.”</p><p>Bokuto snorted, pointing his chopsticks at Kuroo. “I know that because <em> we’ve </em> never fucked.”</p><p>Kuroo couldn’t help himself—that got a laugh out of him. “And we never will.”</p><p>“Aww,” Bokuto fluttered his lashes, a miso-broth-mustache on his face. “Couldn’t you let me down gently?”</p><p>A chuckle rose out of his chest. “Might wanna wipe your face, <em> dear.” </em></p><p>“Anyway, don’t change the subject.” Bokuto said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Come on, seriously. It’s obvious how you feel. Why won’t you confess to Kenma?”</p><p>Kuroo sighed, leaning back in his chair. How could he explain this in a way Bokuto would understand? Bokuto, who saw life like his hair: black and white. A natural volleyball genius who didn’t understand self-limitations. Who didn’t care what society expected of him and didn’t think about consequences. How do you explain fear to someone who doesn’t feel it?</p><p>He sipped his tea, pondering. “It’s like...okay. You confessed to Akaashi, right?”</p><p>Bokuto nodded, following along so far.</p><p>“And Akaashi liked you back.”</p><p>Another nod in agreement, wide eyes trained on him.</p><p>“But…” Kuroo paused. “What if you told Akaashi that you loved him… and he didn’t feel the same way?”</p><p>Bokuto cocked his head. “You mean, what if Akaashi didn’t love me back?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Bokuto then paused, closing his eyes. He rubbed his chin in deep contemplation for a moment, before re-opening his eyes to look at Kuroo. “I can’t imagine that.”</p><p>He sighed. “I know, impossible. But let’s say, in some parallel universe, where Akaashi is crazy, he turns you down. Then what would you do?”</p><p>“If Akaashi turned me down…” Now, he rested his cheek in his palm, drumming his fingers against the old wooden table. Kuroo could really hear the gears grinding now. “Hmmm…” His face scrunched together in thought, stretching the hum for a long moment before coming to an answer. “That would suck. I’d feel horrible.”</p><p>“Exactly. That’s just one reason why most people don’t want to ask out their crushes. Because of the possibility they’ll get turned down.”</p><p>Bokuto’s snort told him that he still wasn’t fully grasping the concept. But he continued on: “Okay. Now you feel terrible because Akaashi rejected you. Your heart is in a million little pieces. And what happens to your friendship with Akaashi? He feels awkward because he knows that you’re in love with him but he doesn’t return your feelings. You’ve known each other for so long and now your friendship will never be the same. It might get so bad that you even stop being friends. Then you don’t even have Akaashi in your life at all because you went and told him all your dumb gay feelings.”</p><p>Bokuto raised an eyebrow skeptically. Whether it was because he was still stuck on the idea of Akaashi rejecting him or because he actually understood that Kuroo was referring to himself and Kenma, he had no idea.</p><p>“Kuroo,” Bokuto said slowly, in the way that he did when he was about to point out something that he thought obvious that the other was missing, “you’ve been talking a lot about what would happen if you got rejected. But have you thought about what could happen if Kenma <em> did </em> feel the same way?”</p><p>Kuroo blinked. Did Bokuto just point out that he was <em> catastrophizing? </em> That he, a psychology major, was so bent on his own failure that he was failing to consider any positive or even neutral outcome of his confession to Kenma?</p><p>...Damn it, why did Bokuto always have to be right? </p><p>“Look, bro. Kenma doesn’t like me like that.” If he even liked Kuroo at all anymore. But he wasn’t going to say that in front of Bo.</p><p>Bokuto sucked in a breath. “You know, you’re never this stubborn.”</p><p>Kuroo’s phone buzzed, saving him from having to continue the unexpectedly terrifying conversation.</p><p>
  <b>[Text from: kenma :3c] do you need me to bring you lunch?</b>
</p><p>He snapped a photo of Bokuto stuffing his face, before replying:</p><p>[Text - delivered] no but this delivery guy won’t leave our apartment</p><p>
  <b>[Text from: kenma :3c] lmao</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text] tell him akaashi’s waiting and he’ll sprint right out</b>
</p><p>“Hey Bo, is Akaashi waiting for you?”</p><p>“Is he?!” His chair immediately scraped against the floor as he stood. “I gotta go, bro. Make sure you’re at the next practice!”</p><p>And with that, he vanished out of the door. Kuroo might have laughed out loud, if he didn’t have so much shit to think about. </p><p>First Tsukki, now Bo. Everyone seemed hellbent on him confessing to Kenma. Was he missing something?</p><p>They probably just wanted Kuroo to confess so he could get rejected and move on with his life. Yeah, that had to be it. But it was too bad for them, he decided. He wasn’t ready to face the music yet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>bokuto has made his entrance ;) he makes me laugh, lmk what y’all think</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Going with the flow will make your transition ever so much easier.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>kuroo FINALLY goes to practice, and makes a decision. but will everything go according to keikaku?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kuroo recovered from his cold quickly. It wasn’t too surprising, with how much Pocari Sweat he drank and how he’d made it his mission to sleep as much as he possibly could without dying. And he probably needed it, too—considering </span>
  <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d1/a1/e0/d1a1e07d20f315603c2fef9b4b700ec2.jpg">
    <span>that totally correct chart</span>
  </a>
  <span> of “college students, pick two: sleeping, studying, and a social life.” Kuroo had pretty much eradicated sleep from his schedule these past few months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few days later, he was feeling a bit like himself again. (Though if you were to ask him, he’d say that he didn’t remember what “himself” felt like.) It was time to head to practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went out alone, of course. Kenma had quit volleyball at the end of high school, shortly after starting his gaming channel. And Kuroo didn’t blame him. After all, at least half the reason that Kenma had played for so long was because of Kuroo. And if the roles were reversed and he had to play for some kind of e-sport team for Kenma’s sake, then he wouldn’t have done half as well or survived half as long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, if it was for Kenma, then he might have. But he didn’t want to think too highly of himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he strolled over to the gym, already hearing the squeaks of sneakers against the wooden floors. It was one of their joint practices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last practice he’d been to was the one where Tsukki had dumped him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This should be fun.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as he was dreading the looks and questions from his teammates, he still wore his usual smirk, if only to say with his eyes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I know what you’re thinking.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuroo!” Bokuto yelled, immediately tackling him. “Ohoho, you’re back? Is it because of the magical ginger tea I gave you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He immediately gave a wistful sigh, patting Bokuto’s shoulder. “Ah, it must be nice being so young.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m two months older than you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inuoka and Konoha pressed their palms to their mouths, snickering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two!” Bokuto yelled, pointing out the offenders. “You don’t look like you’re stretching!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still smirking, the two misbehaving players started their warmups.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Bokuto directed his gaze away from them, settling his hands on his hips. “Did you...you know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Confess to Kenma?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He sighed. “No, Bokuto.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh come onnnn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whining doesn’t suit an ace, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto snapped his mouth shut. That comment always worked on him, to Kuroo’s delight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The owl crossed his arms. “Well, are you at least going to be okay today? You-know-who is going to be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bent down to tie his shoelaces. “Voldemort?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Tsukishima.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, just him?” That devilish smile found its way back onto Kuroo’s face. He had plans for Tsukki. “I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anyone else was concerned for Kuroo, they didn’t show it. Weren’t these the people who were always up in his business, asking him what time he got home and if he made it to class all right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it didn’t matter, anyway. There was only one person he really wanted to talk to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In walked Tsukishima, feigning his usual indifference. Yamaguchi trailed behind him, shooting Kuroo a polite but deadly smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo felt everyone tense up. The atmosphere in the room thickened like a toddler’s turd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Tsukishima greeted everyone in his usual way, settling on the side of the court to stretch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yo,” Kuroo greeted, along with everyone else. He couldn’t say anything, not when everyone was so obviously staring at both of them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really people?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Like he wouldn’t notice. It didn’t help that Yamaguchi was drilling holes into his back with that stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His teammates really loved drama. Or maybe they just liked</span>
  <em>
    <span> his</span>
  </em>
  <span> drama, since he was the one that so often got stuck in random places in the middle of the night but still somehow managed to have some of the best grades on the team.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t say. All he knew was that he had to kick Bokuto’s ass in this practice match.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he did. Then he lost the next one—they almost alternated who won, but that was typical of them. When it was all over and everyone gulped down their sports drinks, he appeared behind Tsukishima like a panther stalking its prey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tsukki, got a minute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond’s shoulders tensed as he turned back to Kuroo. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried again, more desperate. “Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tsukki’s mouth formed a line. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They headed outside to the back of the gym, standing in the alley where they usually talked. Kuroo settled on the wall, leaning casually against the brick. Tsukishima stood opposite him, crossing his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re going to try to change my mind about things, know that it’s not going to happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think so lowly of me?” Kuroo snorted, shaking his head. “No, that’s not why I wanna talk to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blond brow quirked upwards. “Then what is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw Freckles glaring at me when we walked out here.” Kuroo smirked. “When did you two hit it off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blush bloomed across Tsukishima’s face. “That’s none of your business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on, Tsukki. You can tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He adjusted his glasses, glancing sideways. “Yamaguchi and I...well...it happened on Friday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day they’d broken up. “Of course it did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was after— </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> we talked.” Tsukishima finished defensively, meeting Kuroo’s eyes. Was he denying infidelity in their so-called ‘relationship?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you care about my feelings? How sweet~”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, Kuroo,” he grumbled, though his voice carried no real annoyance. “I’ve liked Yamaguchi for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About that…” Kuroo began. Now he was the one to divert his eyes to the concrete, a hand running nervously through his hair. “How did you...tell him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Wait, wait.” A laugh bubbled out of Tsukishima. “Are you...are you trying to ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> for romantic advice? After I dumped you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo already knew how pathetic it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>without </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tsukishima pointing it out. “Can’t you pack up the jokes and help this poor tortured soul?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Kuroo. What is wrong with you?” It came out amused, joking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, Kuroo wouldn’t know why he yelled in reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know! Okay? I don’t fucking know.” His casual demeanor was gone. Instead, he turned his back to Tsukki, hands balled into fists. “Look, I know how pathetic it is to be asking my junior for help especially considering our situation, but I don’t...have anyone else to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bo was on his ass. His other teammates were avoiding him. And Kenma—well, fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Tsukishima’s calm voice cut through his thoughts. “I’ll try to help. I just don’t know what you expect me to do, considering I’m as much of an emotional fuck-up as you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why it has to be you.” He turned slowly towards Tsukki. “Bokuto keeps telling me to be brave, but I’m not like him. I can’t do that. But you...you’re—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A coward?” Tsukishima deadpanned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Logical.” Kuroo finished. “You weigh the risks and the rewards. We think alike.” That was why they’d become fuck buddies in the first place. “And you succeeded with Yamaguchi, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sort of.” Tsukki shifted uncomfortably. “He was really pissed that I’d been fooling around with you. But we’re okay now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See! You did it. Just...just tell me how.” He was sure that the desperation in his eyes, coupled with his bedhead and the bags that hadn’t left his eyes in months, made him look batshit crazy. Which was how he felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima sighed. “He was gonna go on a date with another guy, but then I told him I dumped you and I liked him. That was it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not a romantic, are you?” Kuroo sighed. “All those years of blocking lessons and you won’t even help me out with this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> helping you out. Just fucking tell Kenma.” He said it without malice, simply stating fact. “It’s the simplest way to go about it. That way, there won’t be any misunderstandings. You’ll know how he feels about you. And if he doesn’t feel the same way—which he definitely does, by the way—then you can move on with your life. It’s not like you have to stop being friends after a botched confession.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know any two people that remained friends after a botched confession?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima folded his arms. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That forced a small smile onto Kuroo’s face. “Yeah. We are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cool evening air settled between them, the only sounds the distant honks of cars and echoes of chatter from within the gym.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tsukki spoke first. “He cares about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That got a snort out of him. “How do you know? It’s not like you hang out.” The last time Tsukki and Kenma had seen each other was probably whatever group outing they’d both been forced into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have my sources.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo didn’t know what to do with such a cryptic sentence. Instead of replying, he filled his lungs with air, and let it out slow. “So. Simple, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tsukki nodded. “That’s all I got for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo pushed off the brick wall, extending his hand. Pride swelled in his chest when Tsukishima shook it firmly. “Tell Yamaguchi you took me out here and beat me up.” As he turned away, he heard a snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tetsurou Kuroo didn’t do simple. He was all about planning, finding the best solution even if it meant taking three left turns instead of one right turn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But damn it, maybe he’d give simple a shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never walked with so much determination in his step, not even when he walked Nekoma onto the Nationals court for the last time. The people on the train stared at him as he marched onto the platform. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no idea what he was going to say or how he was going to say it—he just knew that if he kept quiet, his heart would keep thudding like this, hurting like this. This must be how Bokuto feels all the time, he figured, when he’s not constantly confessing his love to Akaashi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo was in love with Kenma. He couldn’t hide from it anymore. And he didn’t want to, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kenma!” he called as he came in the door, willing himself to slow down so that he didn’t trip over his own two feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma hadn’t answered him, but that was typical, given how consumed he’d get by his games. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His anticipation paused at the end of a cliff. Peeking inside, Kuroo discovered that his roommate was not on the couch or in the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kenma?” He peeked his head inside the other’s room, entering, as always, without knocking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Came the quiet voice in the darkness, curled underneath the covers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo’s brows furrowed. Why couldn’t he identify the glow of a screen? “Are you...sleeping?” It was barely 10 o’clock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I have to get up early tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get up early?” Kuroo repeated, turning on the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma blinked, using a hand to shield his eyes, face scrunched in displeasure. “I have to go kinda far to film with this other Youtuber.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat at the edge of Kenma’s bed. “What are you gonna be doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Playing some games. I think he wants to do an otome as a joke,” he sighed, as though the whole thing were tedious, “because a lot of his subscribers think we should be a couple and he wants to capitalize off of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo’s tongue was weighed down with lead. And whatever was in his heart must have been heavier, because it sank to the bottom of his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We already have a bit of a script and he’s going to be flirty for the camera so I’m going to need a lot of energy if I’m going to deal with that,” Kenma continued, checking his phone, though Kuroo didn’t know who he’d be expecting messages from. “I’m really bad at that kind of thing so he’s going to have to edit a lot out anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This guy must be really lucky.” Kuroo joked with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. His voice had tightened, but he pretended that it was his normal pitch. “You’re getting up early to go and see him but you couldn’t drag yourself out of bed to come to my last volleyball game.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was he making a big deal out of it? It was no secret that Kenma put his career before everything else. And he had no idea who this other guy was, or what Kenma felt for him. So why couldn’t he stop himself from being so goddamn stupid?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuro—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, Kenma,” he said, rising and walking to the door, shutting off the light. “Like you said, you need your rest. Night.” He closed the door with a sharp click.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo might have been willing to give simple a shot, but he pulled the trigger and missed by a mile.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The fortune you seek is in another cookie.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>kenma has a lot going on right now</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter is in kenma’s pov! please note that there are mentions of anxiety and a brief description of anxious feelings. to skip over that description, stop reading after “<i>I can’t be late.</i>” and continue at “<i>Bzzt.</i>”</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kenma didn’t know why it had taken him so long to notice, but things had gotten...weird. He had no idea what to say when Kuro slipped out of his room with that fake smile. He just sat upright in his bed, surrounded by darkness and a disconcerting silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing he could do, he figured. At least, not tonight. So he laid back down, pulled the covers back up to his chin, and closed his eyes. But sleep did not come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind was occupied, as it often was, by thoughts of Kuro. How had this all started, anyway? Kuro hadn’t always been...weird. Not like this. It must have been...what, five months ago? Something like that. Before Kuro’s occasional party nights had become regularly scheduled party rampages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Kenma started university, he’d been in extreme danger of the Freshman Fifteen. Hell, he could have gained thirty pounds instead of just fifteen with how he was eating. It wasn’t that he ate a lot, but his mom wasn’t around to force feed him vegetables anymore, so his diet became solely the three important food groups of coffee, pizza, and instant ramen. At the time, Kuro was not pleased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t keep eating this shit.” Kuro had grumbled, digging through Kenma’s dorm food pantry. “Why does your fridge only have coffee creamer? How are you getting docosahexaenoic acid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” He wasn’t going to pretend that he knew what that was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kenma,” Kuro said, loading cups of instant ramen into a trash bag, “Your body is a machine. You need electricity to make it run, not a bunch of sodium crap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“..so I should electrocute myself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to eat a goddamn fish!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Kuro had taken him out to eat a proper meal. But the whole thing was ironic now, considering how these days, Kuro had abandoned “electricity” every weekend to fill his body with alcohol and bar appetizers. Kenma had nothing against his roommate wanting to go out and have a good time, but it had gotten...excessive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what could he say? ‘Hey Kuro, we’re out of milk. Also I think you’re becoming addicted to alcohol. You should probably look into that.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah right.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They rarely talked about serious things, because when it came to serious things, they already knew what there was to know. Kenma knew what Kuro thought about religion, politics, even aliens. And Kuro also knew what he thought about all of it too (they both agreed that aliens were probably real). But lately, he felt like there was definitely something about Kuro that he didn’t know. And...he wanted to find out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But you’re not going to find out at 10 PM, he told himself, especially not when Kuro’s in such a bad mood. So, with some effort, he willed himself to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, his eyes blinked blearily to sounds from the Animal Crossing soundtrack. Ugh. 6 AM. He quietly turned off his alarm, afraid of making too much noise. When he sat up in bed, the exhaustion weighed him down, pulling at his eyelids. But then—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t be late.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There it was, the anxiety to wake him up. On days like this, he didn’t need caffeine because the adrenaline rush was already there, reminding him that he needed to get ready so that he could leave because what if he got on the wrong train or what if he missed the train he just had to go so that he wouldn’t rush and ruin everything because he couldn’t afford to mess up this relationship with this other Youtuber and end his whole career before it even started—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cut off his own thoughts, pressing a hand to his chest to stop the pounding of his heart. He took a deep breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One...two...three...four…</span>
  </em>
  <span> He exhaled slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro would usually calm him down. He’d squeeze his shoulder, say something reassuring in a teasing way that would make all of his worries melt down the drain. But Kuro was asleep now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma sighed, hoping to keep control of his heart rate as he pushed himself out of bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bzzt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blinking, he looked at his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text from: shoyou] good luck today, kenma! (ﾉ&gt;w&lt;)ﾉ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text - 6:07 am] also sorry i didn’t reply to your text last nite</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text - 6:07 am] i got distracted &gt;.&lt;</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text - 6:07 am] but anyway yeah!! we can hang out whenever</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text - 6:08 am] you know if something is bothering u, u can always call me &gt;.&gt;</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in his tired state, he couldn’t help but give a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text - delivered] you know i hate phone calls</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text] i’ll message you later. thanks shoyou</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pocketed his phone so he could get ready without distraction. Since he was going to be on camera later, his ponytail had to be pristine. At least he didn’t have to worry about his outfit: a black hoodie and ripped jeans that he’d carefully picked out the night before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A short while later, he double-checked that he had everything: filming equipment, phone, keys, a protein bar that sufficed as breakfast. As he zipped up his bag for the fourth time, he paused in front of Kuro’s door. His hand reached out towards the knob, hesitating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something strange had happened the last time he went in Kuro’s room, on Sunday. When he’d gotten sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was past noon. Kenma had thought it was strange that Kuro hadn’t woken him up. Even stranger was the fact that there was no coffee in the pot, no noises of cartoons from the TV. Had Kuro gone out? He peeked his head out into the hallway. No, Kuro’s keys were still hung on the key rack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was when he pressed his ear to Kuro’s door. It was quiet. Thank God he wasn’t masturbating. There were a few times when he’d caught those breathy grunts and wanted to die from embarrassment, even though Kuro had no idea he’d heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the door, sticking his head into the room. Kuro was...asleep? But not happy about it, judging by the sweat glazing his forehead and the harsh crease between his brows.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you still asleep? It’s almost one o’clock.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He got only a strangled-sounding grunt in reply. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, shit.</span>
  <em>
    <span> That was when he placed a hand to Kuro’s forehead in concern. “You’re burning up.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kuro had caught a cold and it was his fault, making him stay out in the rain like that. The least he could do was get the poor guy something to relieve his fever. As he re-entered the room, Kuro had fallen back asleep.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kenma…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He froze. He didn’t remember Kuro ever calling his name like that. And he did it now, of all times, when he was out of mind and didn’t realize it. He’d uttered it with such desperation, like he truly was dying and Kenma was the only one who could save him. Why did it make his heart skip a beat?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Here, sit up. Take some Tylenol.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand fell from the doorknob. It’d be better to let Kuro rest. If he was still mad, then there was no point in waking him up now, when they couldn’t solve anything and Kenma had to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>♤</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Welcome back to my channel, everyone!” Yuuji clapped his hands together, grinning at the camera. “It’s your boy Yuuji Terushima, AKA PartyHair and I’m here with a very special guest…” He turned, gesturing to Kenma. “Kodzuken! The famous gamer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma nodded politely. “Thanks for having me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been quite a few hours since he left the house, going from train to train and searching for Yuuji’s apartment until he’d finally found it, exhausted. Yuuji had one of those vibrant personalities, which made him tired vicariously, but he was offered some snacks and coffee, so after a bit of warming up to each other, they were able to sit down and film.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, as you know,” Yuuji addressed the camera, “I usually do videos about hair, fashion, that kinda stuff. But when Kenma and I started talking, I just knew I had to have him over, so I thought we’d do something different today. We...are going to play...an otome game!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He beamed, looking over to Kenma, who gave another nod. It was nice to not have to do all of the talking himself for a change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuji started going into his script about the otome game and how he chose it because the main character was a hairstylist-in-training, like himself. Kenma let him go off for a few minutes, nodding and adding commentary when appropriate. Once they got all of that out of the way, it was time to do what Kenma did best: game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What should we name our character, Kenma?” Yuuji asked, eyes trained on the 20-something girl onscreen. “Maybe...Annoying-chan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma snorted. “No, that wouldn’t work. Can’t we just call her ‘Yuuji’? You’ll really feel immersed in the game.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “No, no, Kenma. I can’t just give her my name when we’re playing </span>
  <em>
    <span>together.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I see…” He hummed thoughtfully, pretending he was coming up with it on the spot. “What about both of our names together? Like…’Yuuma’? Or…’Kenji’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kenji! I like that. But it’s still a boy’s name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not everything they said was scripted, but Yuuji had definitely thought about things beforehand. And their “ship name” had been on the checklist. At least Kenma could perform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They got into it for a while, following Kenji on her journey to pursue the various hot men who were available to her through her mentor’s hair salon. After a heartwarming cut scene where one of the love interest’s tenderly took her hand, Yuuji sighed longingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t I have someone as nice as Kaito? My love life is a whole mess!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t imagine why,” Kenma deadpanned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Yuuji laughed. “Don’t be like that, Kenma. What about you, huh? Tell us about your love life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was there to tell? He didn’t have a love life. He’d never had one, as far as he could tell. The only person who was in his life was Kuro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro. And he certainly wasn’t a love interest in the otome game of Kenma’s life. How could he be? Every weekend, Kenma would wait for him to come home from his long nights of partying. He’d set up camp on the couch and face the clock on the wall, distracting himself with his 3DS until he heard the familiar key in the door. But so many times, he never heard the key in the door. He’d fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, passed out on the couch by the time that Kuro finally stumbled in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other times, he’d be wide awake, glancing up from his screen only to find Kuro greeting him with slurred words and bruises on his neck gifted to him by someone else. Kenma never knew who; he’d tried finding out, a few times, but if Kuro even knew their names, they changed so often, male to female to whatever gender. He’d even heard, through Shoyou, that Kuro had a thing with Tsukishima, and he didn’t know how long that was going to last, if it was even still going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like this behavior had been going on since forever, but it hadn’t always been this way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just a few months ago, they’d gone out for a night of fun with the volleyball crowd and someone slipped Kenma a few beers. Being the lightweight that he was, he got all giggly and, if he remembered correctly, would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> touching Kuro. His hair, his chest, whatever his hands could reach. At one point, he was laughing too much to walk properly, so Kuro carried him on his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they got home, Kuro tried to set him down, but Kenma only pulled him down into bed with him. There he was, flushed and happy, with Kuro on top of him. His mind should have gone to the gutter, but he was so fixated on Kuro’s eyes and how the color shifted in the light, how they seemed to be holding something back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something could have happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, if Kenma thought about it, something almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen. But Kuro said “goodnight” and pulled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to say about my love life.” Nothing coherent, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on, come on,” Yuuji egged him on. “You’re a good-looking guy. There must be someone. Is it complicated?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The short answer to that one was, yes. Without even trying, without even knowing that he was doing it, Kuro was always breaking his heart. Because not only was he all over the place, all over other people, but he never told Kenma things anymore and he never wanted to hang out on the weekends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was Kenma too boring? Did he decline going out too many times? Kuro never even asked him out anymore and he couldn’t figure out whether it was because Kuro didn’t want him there or because Kuro knew that he’d disapprove of the shit he got up to these days. He didn’t know, and it made his chest ache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when he tried to forget about all of it, why did Kuro fling the reminders at him at full speed? Like when he’d agreed to dry Kuro’s hair. That hair—that terrible, untame-able hair that could never stick up the way it was supposed to but still looked good all the time, even when it was mussed from a pillow. That hair that felt so fluffy beneath his fingertips, that drew out hums from Kuro’s throat that could have made him blush if he hadn’t fought the reaction so hard, even though Kuro had been unable to see his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And why had Kuro been so happy to have his hair played with anyway? Sure, they didn’t do that sort of thing often, but they weren’t foreign to the idea of touching like that. Kuroo had on this expression of pure bliss, like he’d been in a dungeon all this time, but someone had come to rescue him and set him on a cloud. Kenma wanted to make him feel like that again and he had no idea how. He just seemed to make everything worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t say any of that. His expression was as blank as ever. “No, I’m as single as can be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued playing for a few hours. Finally, they’d gotten to a confession.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaito’s huge violet eyes settled lovingly on Kenji. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kenji,” Kenma read out loud, bordering on monotone, “I’ve never met a girl like you before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuji burst out laughing. “That’s because we’re two guys!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma snorted, before continuing as Kaito. “You brighten up my world like the sun. I’ve never felt so strongly about anyone before…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, just take me into your arms, daddy Kaito.” Yuuji addressed the screen, hand over his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma shook his head in amusement. “Please be mine forever. Without you, everything will be dark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is so romantic!” Yuuji exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his seat. “Come on, this has to be what real love is like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, Kenma?” Yuuji perked up, ready for juicy content. “Tell me, tell me. I’ve been talking a lot during this game. If that’s not real love to you, then what is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure…” He tilted his head thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma had never been in love. He couldn't have been. Love was dramatic. It was Bokuto yelling and sighing about the sparkle in Akaashi’s eyes, it was shoujou protagonists having heart attacks when their crush touched their hand, it was Mario going on quests to the end of the world just to save Princess Peach, who was really more trouble than she was worth considering how much she got captured by Bowser. Kenma couldn't imagine himself doing much more than making a trip to the fridge for Kuro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the thing about Kuro. When the whole world made Kenma's heart quicken with anxiety, Kuro was the one to calm him down. After a long day of gaming or filming, Kuro was ready with a bottle of water, a container of dumplings, and a fortune cookie, without him even having to ask. If he got into bed and couldn’t remember if he’d locked the door or turned off the stove, he could close his eyes and rest knowing that even if he had forgotten, Kuro had taken care of it for him. Kuro felt like home. And that was how all friends were, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But things had changed lately. There were times when Kenma did start to notice his heart beat faster. Like when Kuro got out of the shower in a too-short and too-tight hand towel that left little to the imagination and water dripped down his muscled chest and pooled into his navel. Or when Kuro carried a ridiculous Princess Peach umbrella over their heads to shield them from the rain, walking so close that their arms constantly touched and that he could feel Kuro’s breath against his ear when he laughed. Or even when he overheard Kuro jerking off, when he wondered what Kuro was thinking about as his hand moved, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was thinking of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s complicated.” And he did elaborate more this time, while still carefully omitting the details. Because while he wasn’t really the secretive type, he didn’t need the entire internet to know that not only was he uninterested in Yuuji, but he was totally, completely, and unfortunately in love with his best friend.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. You learn from your mistakes…you will learn a lot today.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>some shit happens + a recap in kuroo’s pov</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello~ just wanted to inform y’all that this chapter has mentions of and a brief description of throwing up. to skip past it, stop at “Kuroo didn’t stay there, though.” and continue at “Why was he like this?”</p><p>a song that pairs well with this chapter: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDeTO26fRVQ">idfc by blackbear</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been a long day, for many reasons. Not only did Kenma have to wake up early and travel to a different city, but he’d also had to spend the whole day with a practical stranger as they’d hung out and attempted to produce entertaining content for their respective audiences. Sure, it wasn’t that hard with how naturally charismatic Yuuji was. But Kenma did have to keep up with him, and using up all of his social energy was draining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least after a whole day of being together, they’d each had what would probably end up being around half an hour of content after editing, and some pictures to post on social media. It’d been productive. And hey, if he ever wanted to get his hair done on camera, he now had a contact for that. Even though the only other person he’d typically let near him with hair product was Kuro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro. It wasn’t until Kenma got on the train around 10 PM that he realized he should probably check on his roommate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text to: kuro - blood cell #1] hey</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text] sorry i didn’t say bye this morning. you were asleep</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text] i’m on my way back. is everything okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes passed. No response. That was weird. It couldn’t have been his reception, because he could browse Instagram just fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed back the different scenarios flashing in his mind. Nothing bad happened, he reassured himself. Kuro was just busy. It was the weekend. Kuro couldn’t be...out, could he? When he was still recovering from his cold? Frowning, Kenma refreshed his inbox.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No new messages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Should he call? He pressed the “dial” button, but after two rings, figured he was being stupid, and hung up. There was nothing to worry about...right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put Kuro out of his mind for a bit, instead texting Shoyou (who had no problem receiving and replying to his texts). But worry lingered on his commute home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While walking up to their apartment, he dialed Kuoo’s number. It rang once, twice, all the way to the end before going to voicemail. Kenma frowned. Well, it was almost midnight. Maybe Kuro was asleep. When he turned the key into their door, he realized that the lights were off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuro?” he called, hurriedly removing his shoes to step into the apartment. The kitchen, the living room, Kuro’s bedroom—empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text to: bokuto] are you with kuro? he’s not answering me</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text - 11:43 pm] o.o no sorry kenma</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text - 11:44 pm] i’ll try texting him !</b>
</p><p>
  <span>He spent the next five minutes refreshing his inbox.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text from: bokuto] he didn’t answer me either... maybe his phone died?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma’s frown deepened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text - delivered] maybe</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text - delivered] text me if you reach him</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text from: bokuto] yes sir !</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma sighed, flopping onto the couch. He wanted to melt into the cushions; his muscles begged to disappear, eyes threatened to close on him. But he couldn’t go to sleep. What if Kuro called him? Or Bokuto had an update?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After mindlessly scrolling through Twitter for fifteen minutes, he figured that he should try to keep his misery at bay and at least clean up a little. Showers always made him feel better, and as he toweled off his damp hair, he was pleased to note that he felt a little more awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No new messages. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it, Kuro.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>All that was left to do was park his ass on the couch and wait, 3DS in hands. Every minute dragged on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, over an hour later, he heard scuffling noises by the door. It sounded like someone was trying to put the key into the lock but kept missing and cursing under their breath. Just as he was about to get up and open the door, Kuro tumbled in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro straightened himself, turning to Kenma as though just noticing him. “..Kennnma,” he drawled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smell of tequila on him was so strong that Kenma wondered if he’d bathed in it. His nose wrinkled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro’s dreamy expression melted into a scowl. “Yer..gay-ming, arentchu?” He said, wobbling. As though all of his effort went into keeping his words steady and not his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah?” He looked up worriedly. He didn’t even know where to begin with the tall, scruffy mess in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Playing your...stupid little game again?” Kuro reached for the 3DS, but was too slow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma snatched it out of his reach. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with me?” Kuro’s eyes filled with a heat that had never been directed at Kenma before. It made his heart thud, in a bad way. “Whas..what’s wrong with you?” Kuro stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma closed his eyes, sucking in a breath. He really didn’t want to do this right now. He was too tired to even be properly annoyed. And yet—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with me is I’ve been worried about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kenma snapped, pulling the finger away from his chest. “Where the hell have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, now Kenma’s worried about me.” He scoffed. “Whoop. De. Fuckin’. Doo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He folded his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro laughed without warmth, an ugly noise. Nothing like his usual hyena-like giggles. “You...y’know.” He grabbed Kenma’s arm, holding onto his wrist too tight. Kenma felt his blood vessels straining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuroo, let go of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tension hung in the air. His wrist throbbed painfully in protest, his eyes meeting Kuroo’s in angry confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blinking, Kuroo slowly released him. Face flushing redder, he crossed his arms. “Fuck you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was taking all of Kenma’s power to not punch him. If it was Tora acting like this, he would have already launched himself over and clawed at the other’s face. But this was Kuro. And if Kuro was going to act like a little bitch, then he would, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have something for you.” He said, calmer than he felt. He ignored the surprised lift of Kuro’s eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma opened up their fridge, uncapping a bottle. “Hold out your hands.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Kuro did, he pointed the water bottle right at the bastard’s face and </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeezed,</span>
  </em>
  <span> squirting cold water all over his face, and by extension, the kitchen floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That should help you sober up.” He threw the plastic right at Kuro’s dumb head, not even caring to stick around for the dull </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and shut the fridge door, stalking off to his bedroom. “Don’t even talk to me until you’ve thrown up at least twice, you stupid fucking idiot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was how Kuroo ended up soaking wet in all the wrong ways at 2 AM, alone at their kitchen table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo didn’t stay there, though. Scrambling upwards, he ignored the various screams of protest that his body gave off, rushing for the toilet. He felt all kinds of horrible with his head half lowered into the shit bowl, emptying the last remnants of poison that’d been sitting in his stomach. He rested his cheek against the seat lid, disgustedly wiping a few unfortunate chunks from his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was he like this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he groaned, surprised by the way his own voice sounded like sandpaper. He sounded like shit, smelled like shit, felt like shit...He probably looked like shit, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kneeled there for a few minutes more, feeling sorry for himself as he tried to work up the strength and the courage to stand. When he finally did, he flushed the toilet and stepped towards the mirror. His guess was right: he did look like shit. Aside from his hair, his skin was unusually pale, making the bags under his eyes stick out even more. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead, before remembering to wash his face, brush his teeth. The cleanliness only helped a little: he couldn’t wash away how gross he felt inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours later, he woke up in his bed, disoriented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kenma?” he called as he stepped out of his bedroom, running a hand through his hair. “You home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no answer. His eyes landed on the wall clock: 1:45 PM. There was no way Kenma was still asleep. He must have left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irritated and yet relieved to be alone, Kuroo changed into a clean shirt, laying carefully on his bed. He was so tired. He just wanted to close his eyes…Then it all came back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma had been going to film with some guy. That was what had pissed him off yesterday.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...a lot of his subscribers think we should be a couple...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We already have a bit of a script and he’s going to be flirty for the camera...” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Kenma had checked his phone and Kuroo’s veins burned from the inside out. What had he said?</span>
  <em>
    <span> “You couldn’t drag yourself out of bed to come to my last volleyball game.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Or something like that. And then he’d stomped out of the room. God, why was he so obvious? He groaned loudly, shoving his pillow over his face in the hopes of smothering himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop replaying yesterday’s events in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>After storming out of Kenma’s room, he couldn’t sleep. He wrestled with his pillows, cursing the Youtuber that he didn’t even know. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck that guy,” he whispered in the dark, squinting at his calico cat plushie. “Kenma’s waking up early to go hang out with him all day. He’s never woken up early for me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then those feelings curdled in his stomach like old milk. All the evidence was there—he wasn’t good enough for Kenma. That was why he was never able to hold the other’s attention, no matter what he did. Become a volleyball superstar? Meh. Study his ass off to make the Dean’s list? Whatever. Go out and try to fucking destroy himself every weekend? Who cared.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing, nothing he’d ever done had earned him Kenma’s stare. The most he’d get was a glance, and what was that for? Dripping water on the floor? Getting in the way?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>After hours of repeating these thoughts in his head, he’d fallen into a restless slumber. When he woke up, Kenma had left for the train station. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There hadn’t been any practice, which meant that Kuroo could sulk and make bad choices as much as he pleased. (Even if he’d tried to hang out with Bokuto, he knew that there was a 99% chance that he already had plans with Akaashi.) And he was in too bad of a mood to hang out with anyone else. He would have tried Tsukki, but that’d just be weird, wouldn’t it? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So he sighed, lazing around until prime Fucking Up Hours. And then, all at once, he got texts from some of his drinking buddies asking where he was.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Text to Group - Absolute Bastards &gt;;p] save a seat for me fellas</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Text] we’re gonna have fun tonight</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He arrived at the bar sporting his favorite black V-neck. He pulled out his phone again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No new messages.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing from Kenma. What the hell was he even doing? Did filming really take so much of his attention that he didn’t wonder how Kuroo was doing? Or if he was even alive?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he was being dramatic, but he didn’t care.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kuroo,” a voice greeted him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing standing outside? It’s Friday, baby.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kuroo turned, putting on a smile. “Happy fuckin’ Friday.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They broke into a laugh, walking inside. And then the shots started coming. After downing a few, Kuroo felt his phone buzz in his pocket.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>[Text from: kenma :3c] hey</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>[Text] sorry i didn’t say bye this morning. you were asleep</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>[Text] i’m on my way back. is everything okay?</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What a bunch of bullshit. He stuck his phone back into his pocket, ignoring the noises that emitted from it after. He didn’t need Kenma interrupting his night off, especially when he was flirting with some famous guy Kuroo didn’t even know. Some guy that was probably hot and charming. It didn’t matter who it was or what he looked like—it was some guy that wasn’t Kuroo.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>After the second phone call, he muted his phone. “How about another round?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t remember much after that. At some point, he entered a drinking contest with one of the other Absolute Bastards to see who could down the most tequila shots. He’d chugged the burning liquid so messily that one of them practically emptied onto his clothes, earning the laughs of the whole table.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His attempts at getting someone to go home with him were all shot down, most probably because of the slur of his words and the stink of his breath. But he was too out of it to care much. That was when he’d stumbled home, to see Kenma.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Playing his video games, the way he always did. Barely looking up. And then he made a stink face, of all things. Like Kuroo was just some fly that buzzed around. Why the fuck couldn’t Kenma just notice him? He felt like a desperate kouhai in a terrible anime, but it didn’t even fit because he was older.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>...And then he’d made an ass of himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laying in his bed now, Kuroo couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said or done. But it couldn’t have been good if he’d gotten a bottle of cold water to the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hadn’t he called Bokuto afterwards? Rambling drunkenly about Kenma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, whatever. It couldn’t’ve been important.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. In times of darkness, your friends will be your lighthouse.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“HOO HOO, BITCH!”</p><p>hinata broyou and brokuto step in</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter starts in kenma’s pov! ;p enjoy everyone</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kenma shifted uncomfortably on Shoyou’s couch. It wasn’t because he felt particularly awkward in front of the other; after all, Shoyou was his best friend, after Kuro. It was because he’d come over to discuss...feelings, and problems, and other personal things that he didn’t usually like talking about. He tried to distract himself by figuring out the color of the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this brown or green?” he asked, rubbing a circle into the cushion with a finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve spilled so many things on it I can’t tell anymore!” Shoyou replied brightly, setting a bowl of pretzels on the dorm-provided coffee table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what color did it used to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoyou paused, rubbing his chin with his hand. “I think...gray?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma wrinkled his nose, deciding to change the subject. “Are you sure you’re not busy? Kageyama seemed mad when he was on his way out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just his face.” Shouyou waved a hand dismissively, plopping beside Kenma on the couch. “What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma turned his gaze to his lap, playing with his fingers. “It’s about Kuro…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoyou tilted his head, a silent prompt for him to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve just been worried about him.” And then he explained the details of Kuro’s escapades, the drinking, the one night stands, settling back more comfortably as he spoke despite his increasing frustration, hands going from timidly clasped to openly gesturing. Once he started talking, it all seemed to pour out, his words filling the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Shoyou listened. Despite being an avid chatterbox, he let Kenma go on, take time to pause, to think. He only spoke to add in understanding “yeah”s and concerned “oh no”s here and there, encouraging Kenma the whole way with enthusiastic nods. He didn’t even stop Kenma when he started babbling about the things he liked about Kuro, color filling his cheeks when he brought up the sharp angle of Kuro’s cheekbones and the sleepy tone of his voice when he peeked into Kenma’s room late at night to tell him to go to bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really like him,” Kenma sighed, his face falling into his hands. “Shoyou...I’m in too deep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can tell,” Shoyou said. “So what are you gonna do about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” Kenma huffed, lifting his face to look at him. “I was hoping you’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?!” Shoyou burst into laughter, shaking so hard that the couch vibrated along with him. “You think</span>
  <em>
    <span> I</span>
  </em>
  <span> could give you good love advice? Have you—have you met me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma frowned, brows furrowing. “But you’re good with people.” Unlike Kenma, who was never able to fully grow out of his awkward teenage years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With people, yeah,” Shoyou shook his head. “But not with...dating.” He directed his gaze to the not-gray couch, blush spreading to his neck. “Don’t you remember the last time I thought I had a brilliant romance plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, right,” Kenma nodded. “When you kissed me at that party to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To make Kageyama jealous,” Shoyou interrupted with a groan. “I was drunk but it was totally uncool—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoyou,” Kenma shook his head. “I told you it was fine. Besides, I couldn’t be mad at you when your mission failed so miserably. I can’t forget the look on your face when Kageyama stormed out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m still paying the price for that one.” Shoyou mumbled, raising his eyes to Kenma’s embarrassedly. “So, as much as I wanna help you out, Kenma, I wouldn’t trust me with this kinda stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma hummed, leaning back into the cushions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...” Shoyou said, voice laced with uncertainty as he fiddled with a loose thread on the edge of his shorts. “The thing is, you know Kuroo-san better than anyone. So if anyone knows how to talk to him...it’s you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I know him.” Kenma grumbled. “He’s been keeping so many things from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, about Tsukishima?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard they broke up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cat-like eyes trained on Shoyou. “...Details?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.” Shoyou scratched his chin,.“They stopped...seeing each other? I guess.” He shrugged lightly before continuing, “Like...two weeks ago maybe. And apparently Tsukishima is with Yamaguchi now—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is like a bad drama show.” Did all of the volleyball people just date each other? “Do you know if Kuro broke up with Tsukishima or if it was the other way around?” His lack of contact with his former rivals meant that Shoyou was his main source of information.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoyou shook his head. “Does it matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma puffed his cheeks. “It would make me feel better if Kuro ended things. That way, I’d know that if he...likes someone else, then it would definitely be his choice and not just because he got dumped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoyou gave him that look, the kind that made him feel like his neon friend was reading his thoughts. “Kenma,” he said gently, “it’s not always that simple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at Shoyou with wide eyes. The fact that Shoyou, one of the most simple-minded people he’d ever met, was telling him this… He chuckled, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?! What’s so funny?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, nothing. I think you’re right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I’m right.” Shoyou huffed, crossing his arms. “I think you should just tell Kuroo-san how you feel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma pursed his lips. “Gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gross?!” Shoyou exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his seat. He was as dramatic as ever. “You’ve been in love with him since forever!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his attention back to playing with his fingers. “There’s no way he likes me back…He sleeps around and I’m clearly not his type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were other reasons, though. He was probably too boring for Kuro. He was a homebody, who liked few things outside video games. Kuro, on the other hand, had always craved excitement since they were little. Part of the reason he said he’d liked volleyball so much was the adrenaline rush of the win, the surge of pride that came with breaking through your opponent’s defense like unlocking a complicated puzzle. And these days, Kuro had an affinity for the borderline dangerous, at one point narrowly avoiding a car chase that Kenma only knew about because it was on someone else’s snapchat. He came to terms with the fact that after knowing each other for all these years, he just wasn’t...thrilling to Kuro anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he has those one night stands to take his mind off of you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoyou, that’s very nice of you to say. But it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Why would Kuro sleep around if he liked Kenma back? Meanwhile Kenma had been saving his first time for someone special, who he’d hoped—for too long now—would be Kuro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe Kuroo-san is dumb,” Shoyou offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Maybe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma plucked a pretzel from the bowl. With how Kuro had been acting lately, he wouldn’t be surprised if Kuro was actually stupid and had just been hiding it all their lives. Even though he’d always been dagger-sharp on the court and knew his way around a biology textbook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If something was bothering Kuro, then he’d be an idiot not to tell his best friend about it, Kenma decided. The biggest idiot in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you get that meme I sent you?” Shoyou asked, shoveling pretzels into his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh? Oh, I couldn’t find my phone this morning. I think I dropped it under my bed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kuroo,” Bokuto whined over the phone. “I called you so many times last night. Why didn’t you answer?! If Kenma didn’t update me, I woulda thought you’d died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bokuto,” Kuroo muttered in irritation, still hungover. “Can you lower your voice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO, YOU ASSHOLE!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo cringed, pulling the phone away from his ear. He switched to speaker, exponentially lowering the volume. “You screech like a fuckin’ owl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HOO HOO, BITCH!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes so hard that his head throbbed. “Ow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d tell you to suck a dick but you’ve been doing that a lot lately!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clenched his teeth. “Bokuto, if you don’t shut the fuck up…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well why the fuck did you call me if you want me to shut the fuck up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was</span>
  <em>
    <span> trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to apologize.” Partly for avoiding so many calls and then for leaving a drunken voicemail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want your half-assed apology. It’s not me who you should be apologizing to, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But I didn’t see Kenma yet. He’s not home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he wanted to get the fuck away from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since when are you such an asshole to me?” Kuroo snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He already felt unwanted. He didn’t need Bokuto to join the piss party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since you decided to start acting like a major dickhead all the time!” Bokuto burst out, voice rolling like a bout of thunder. “When you decided to go out and party more, we were all like ‘Yeah, let Kuroo have fun! He works so hard and he has his head on his shoulders. He deserves to let loose once in a while.’ But then you got so shit-faced that nobody wanted to go out with you anymore! Didn’t you notice when no one accepted your drinking invitations every weekend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo opened his mouth to answer, but wasn’t given the chance as Bokuto continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one wants to party with the guy who drinks till he pukes on his own shoes! Or leaves with some stranger he got way too handsy with. But we passed it off, we said it was some phase you’d grow out of because you’re not like that. But it’s been months! And now I hear about you going to class with </span>
  <em>
    <span>vodka in your water bottle?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ve been fucking all these different people when you like Kenma—God, Kuroo, how do you think Kenma feels watching you come home fucked up all the time? Whether you think he likes you or not, he might be quiet but he’s not fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>blind.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Each word sent another arrow into Kuroo’s chest. “I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bokuto interrupted, “am sick and fucking tired of watching you try to poison yourself and your chances at being with Kenma before you even grow the balls to do anything about it! You’ve got no reason to be sabotaging yourself like this! Are you a fuckin’ idiot? All those good looks and brains are wasted on you! God, I could just fuckin’—I could </span>
  <em>
    <span>murder</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, Kuroo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto finally fell silent, breathing heavily after his outburst. A long moment passed between them, a touch of static the only sound Kuroo heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt himself shaking. “So,” he began slowly, the tremor in his tone betraying his words, “you think I’m hot and smart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear Bokuto thinking, deciding between crushing his phone in his hands and coming over to wrap his hands around Kuroo’s throat and end him right there. What Bokuto did decide was much worse than either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want my best friend back.”</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Click.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo blinked, staring at his phone in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto had never hung up on him like that before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was an idiot. All this time, he thought no one noticed or cared what he was doing. But they’d just been giving him time and space to work his shit out. And he’d let them down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” He yelled, chucking his phone at his bed. He’d messed everything up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to fix it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dialed a number that wasn’t Bokuto’s. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Kuroo.” Came Akaashi’s clipped voice on the other end. He didn’t know if Akaashi was also mad at him—sometimes his voice just sounded like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, do you...know where Bokuto is?” He asked, feeling his mouth run dry. He padded to the kitchen, firing up the coffee machine just to give his hands something to do. If Akaashi didn’t help him, he was fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do. He’s always sharing his location with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, right.” Kuroo remembered that Akaashi had started that security measure when Bokuto had gotten severely lost on his own in an amusement park. “Can you tell me where he is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for?” There was that clipped tone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I gotta talk to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to apologize?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Akaashi did know, then. He’d probably overheard since Bokuto was shouting for most of the conversation. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He went to the gym. He’ll probably be there for a few hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grunted his thanks and Akaashi said a quick, formal “goodbye” before hanging up on him. Kuroo inhaled another breath, overly aware of his movements as he poured a cup of coffee, stirred in the sugar. As though he were watching himself from a distance. This was the most self-aware he’d felt in a while. When he sat at the kitchen table, he could feel the hardness of the wooden chair beneath him, the cool tile of the floor against his toes. He blew on his coffee, feeling the steam curl around his nose before sipping the rich bittersweetness of it, letting it sit on his tongue before swallowing. He tried to do it slowly. He closed his eyes, willing himself to feel like a functioning person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was trying to press his “reset” button. To become the old Kuroo, who didn’t always try to beat the shit out of his own ego, who didn’t day drink. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When I empty this mug,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he told himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I will become me again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His studies in psychology told him that hypnosis was a hotly debated topic in the field. There were times when it didn’t fucking work. </span>
</p><p><span>But it had to, damn it. </span><em><span>When I empty this mug,</span></em> <em><span>I will become me again.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>With each sip, he took another long breath to calm himself. Eventually, the mug did empty. He stood shakily on his legs like a newborn deer, carefully depositing the cup in the sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew exactly where to find Bokuto. They’d gone to the gym together countless times, when the owl-head had been in a rainbow of moods. And since Bokuto was no doubt pissed, Kuroo figured he’d be away from the equipment (after a few occasions where he’d either hurt himself or broke the machine he was working out on). It didn’t take long to spot his monochrome hair in the corner, vigorously doing sit ups.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto was so focused that it took a few sit ups before he noticed Kuroo standing at his feet. “Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your form is terrible.” Kuroo commented, setting his toes on the edge of Bokuto’s to hold his feet down to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My form is fine.” He grunted as he continued, sweat beading at his temples. “Why are you here anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to say sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I’m not the one—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t about last night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto stared at him, finally pausing in his sit ups. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I’ve been a dick. I didn’t know that everyone was so worried about me. But, honestly, I should’ve. ‘Cause you guys are good friends.” His eyes slid to Bokuto’s. “You’re a good friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he was crushed in Bokuto’s arms, one of his standard too-tight bear hugs. Before he could utter a protest that he was going to die or get covered in Bokuto’s sweat, the other spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always gonna be here for you, bro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo returned the hug, giving him a tight squeeze. “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you kinda dumb for a psych major?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” Kuroo released him, pulling away to see his cocky grin. “I am also sorry about that voicemail, though. Dumping all my baggage on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bro, what voicemail? I told you, you didn’t call me last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Yes I did.” Kuroo insisted, pulling out his phone. “I definitely called you at like 4 AM—” His voice died off as he looked at his call history.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuroo? What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bo, I—I called Kenma.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kenma finally arrived home late in the afternoon. He’d hung out with Shoyou longer than anticipated, but they’d just lost track of time since they didn’t get to hang out as often as they used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he arrived with some groceries that he’d picked up, setting the bags on the kitchen table. He should probably check his phone, he figured, and found it covered in dust under his bed. Wrinkling his nose, he wiped it off on his pants before looking at his notifications.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were plenty, but nothing looked interesting as he scrolled down. At the very bottom was a missed call from around 4 AM, after he’d gone to bed—from Kuro. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>BONUS CONTENT:</b> <a href="https://spadebrigade.tumblr.com/post/613691597477101568/a-fortune-i-couldnt-foresee-a-deleted-scene">a deleted scene from this chapter, posted on my tumblr</a></p><p>ALSO! if you’re interested in reading more about what happened between kageyama and hinata that night at the party, then feel free to check out <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464498">this special fic</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A focused mind is one of the most powerful forces in the universe.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a voicemail, a second chance</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>♤</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Awwww, Bo, why don’t you answer your phone? I know you’re probably awake...it’s so wet in here….I think I almost drowned? No, no, I got splashed with water...Aaanyways, I think I’m totally fucked, bro… Like, I really really fucked up this time. Kenma… probably fuckin’ hates me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Y’know, I was bein’ an ass. Like, I don’t know, I think I was being scary. But I jussst couldn’t help it, y’know? I saw him gaming and I was like, ‘I want you to look at ME.’ But I didn’t say that, obviously. But I was thinkin’ it. His eyes are so pretty, I wanna look at him all the time. And his hands—I wanna be that PSP. I mean, you know that already. It’s—ugggghhhh—it’s so frustrer—frustrating. But I can’t—you better not call me a pussy for saying this—I can’t confess.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“……………….God, do I fuckin’ love him. It’s like I’m sick with it. It makes my stomach hurt, like I’m gonna puke—wait no shit shit gottagobye.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>♤</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why does it matter if you called Kenma?” Bokuto asked, looking over at Kuroo in concern. “The fuck did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember exactly what I said.” Kuroo said, throwing his arms out in frustration. “But I definitely remember rambling about </span>
  <em>
    <span>how in love with him</span>
  </em>
  <span> I am!” His raised voice drew stares from the other gym-goers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, this is a good thing.” Bokuto clapped a reassuring hand over his shoulder. “Even if you were drunk—you told him how you feel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bo.” He groaned. “I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell him. At least not like that. I probably wasn’t even making any sense.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I mean, if he doesn’t like me back, then I can just tell him that I said it because I was drunk, right? And then he’ll forget about the whole thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, that could work. And then he could pretend that he didn’t mean it, and laugh off Kenma’s rejection so that everything could go back to normal. And he’d go back to suffering in silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are such a pessimist.” Bokuto huffed, snapping him out of it. “You don’t even know how he’s going to react.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, he probably already heard it—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I don’t think so.” Bokuto shook his head. “He tweeted earlier that his phone wasn’t on him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo’s head snapped towards him. “Do you think if I run home now I could delete it off his phone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think you live in a fuckin’ cartoon or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Bokuto was calling his idea stupid, then he must </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> be acting dumb. “What the hell am I supposed to do then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be vulnerable for once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo’s face immediately contorted in disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop making that face!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eugh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto sighed in exasperation. “Fuck it. I’m done with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bokuto—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, but I’m sick of your bullshit. Quit being a pussy and go home.” He said, stretching his legs out. “I’m gonna hit the treadmill but it won’t be ‘cause I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>running</span>
  </em>
  <span> from my problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. I get it. I’m going.” This was his chance to escape before Bokuto launched into another lecture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a wreck the whole way home, carding his hands through his hair over and over again. There was no question—Kenma had definitely heard the voicemail by now. Why hadn’t he called or texted Kuroo about it? Was he going to be super awkward when Kuroo walked in? Or had he just wanted to wait until they saw each other in person before he rejected Kuroo? That seemed like Kenma. He’d be gentle, but firm, just like he was in turning down people’s affections so many times before. (Kuroo had witnessed Kenma’s go-to line many, many times: “I’m sorry, but I don’t like you like that.” It was a running joke between them.) At least, no matter what happened, Kenma wouldn’t be mean to him...Probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bit his lip. There was always that chance that Kenma would fucking tear into him. Why wouldn’t he? Kuroo had been acting like a total asshole lately. If Kenma was a pettier person, he might even kick Kuroo out of their shared apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo shook his head. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kenma,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he reminded himself. Kenma wouldn’t do that, even if he deserved it. They’d been friends for so long. It’s not like Kenma would hate him just for...just for loving him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sure that he looked like a crazy person, facial expressions twitching from one to another as he argued with himself in his head. He was a schemer, but there was no real way for him to tell how this would play out. There were too many variables and he was too upset, too biased. Like a natural disaster, he had no choice but to just watch it happen and hope for the best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he got to their front door, his hand paused at the knob. He closed his eyes, inhaling a breath that he hoped would stabilize him, before exhaling slowly. Then, with steady fingers, he stuck the key into the lock and turned it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma lay on the couch, laptop perched above him. “Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Kuroo returned, a touch more quiet than usual as he carefully closed the door behind him. “...What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A certain awkwardness hung between them as Kenma stared at him, analyzing. He could feel himself about to start sweating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” Kenma returned simply, turning his gaze back to the screen. “I got some groceries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thanks.” He leaned against the doorframe, too stiff to be casual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sensing him, Kenma lifted his gaze once more. “...Why did you call me last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart thudded in his ears. He hadn’t ever wanted to tell Kenma. He knew all about how risk and reward worked—you only take the chance if the expected outcome is good enough. The risk—losing Kenma—had always been too great for the reward—dating Kenma—no matter how much he ached for that reward. And now he’d bared his soul to Kenma by mistake with his drunken words. The choice had been made for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth had never felt more dry. He licked his lips, as though to help the words slide out. “I thought I was calling Bokuto.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Kenma said in understanding, typing away on his keyboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is...that all you have to ask me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That couldn’t be it. Kenma could be distant, but even he wouldn’t outright ignore what was most definitely the most pathetic confession the world had ever been faced with. But all Kuroo got was a puzzled expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean—you’re not gonna ask me about the voicemail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma pursed his lips. “You didn’t leave a voicemail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” His brows knit together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t pressed “record”.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please leave a message.” Click.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t even begin to process this when Kenma spoke again: “I’m waiting for you to apologize for last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head snapped up. He’d forgotten all about last night; it could have been a hundred years ago. “Fuck. Right. I’m sorry, Kenma. I mean—I’m sorry I didn’t apologize earlier, first of all.” He ran a hand through his hair again, stepping further into the apartment. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like an asshole. I just…” Just what? Nothing about this was simple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trailed off for too long, allowing Kenma to pick up where he left off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You scared me, Kuro. You know you can talk to me about things, right? Even if they’re...hard to talk about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The effort brought a small smile to his face. Kenma’s idea of comforting someone was standing six feet away, petting them with a broom. He knew how difficult making that offer must have been. “Yeah. Thanks, Kenma. Don’t worry, I’ll figure my shit out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He received another long stare, assessing him. He was just about to wonder out loud if Kenma planned on writing a research paper on his facial expressions when the other dropped his gaze. Kuroo mumbled something about going to his room and closed the bedroom door behind him, collapsing onto his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t confessed to Kenma. That whole emotional rollercoaster had been for nothing. He pressed his hands to his eyes, releasing a quiet groan. He couldn’t even mess up his confession properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His arms opened up, resting on the pillows as he stared at the ceiling. He’d almost felt relieved when he thought that Kenma heard the voicemail. Sure, it was a shitty message, and he’d vomited immediately after saying all of it. But just for a little while, between leaving the gym and arriving at the apartment, he’d been sure that his love existed out in the open. It had left an airy feeling in his chest, as though his ribs were made of feathers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now his bones had gone back to being metal pipes. He couldn’t keep doing this. Hiding his feelings, sleeping with other people to numb his pain. And the drinking—a newer, worse habit to also numb the pain. It all needed to stop. He had to confess to Kenma. For real this time, the right way. His way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shooting up off his bed, he snatched up his planner from his desk and got to work. If Kenma was going to reject him, then he’d at least be rejecting the most perfect confession ever uttered by a lovestruck idiot.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Keep your eyes open. You never know what you might see.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>wheels are turning</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was it just Kenma or did the cabinets seem...emptier somehow? He stood in the kitchen, blinking tiredly as the coffee machine sang its morning hymns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head, trying to form thoughts. Which itself was a difficult feat because he hadn’t consumed caffeine yet. (As a testament to the trait, Kuro had once gotten him one of those white-mom mugs that said “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee” in Comic Sans.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was missing from the cabinets? The plates were there, the cups were there. The bags of chips, jars of peanut butter, and other cabinet foods were there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Intent on solving this mystery, he opened the fridge for a clue. The groceries he’d bought the other day were there. The milk was there and the perpetual six pack of beer rested in the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>—The beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slothlike, his eyes drifted to the empty cabinets again. Then it clicked into place: the liquor was missing. Kuro’s stash—the cheap vodka and tequila he always kept on hand. Gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes hardened. Kuro hadn’t drank it all, had he? Just as he crossed the kitchen to go see if Kuro had perhaps died or passed out over the toilet, his eyes landed on the trash can. Right at the top of the garbage heap sat the missing bottles. They were full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” The soft word escaped him, so quickly that he hadn’t even realized that he’d said it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why had Kuro tossed his stash? And where was Kuro anyway? Kenma’s heart quickened with concern, even though he figured that Kuro probably wasn’t dead. Was he sleeping?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found himself at his roommate’s door, knuckles landing on the wood gently. “Kuro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another knock, louder. “Are you sleeping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited a moment, but no noise came from the other side of the door. A twist of the knob told him that it was unlocked. With a peek of his head, Kenma discovered that the room was empty. Which meant that it was Sunday morning and Kuro had left the house </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> 11 AM, when Kenma had woken up. He was just about to mull over this second mystery when he heard their front door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma jumped, not wanting to be caught snooping even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. When he returned to the kitchen, he was met with the sight of Kuro’s back, sweat soaking his T-shirt and running shorts exposing toned calves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Kuro greeted, flashing him a toothy smile that made his chest flutter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know why his body reacted that way until he realized that he hadn’t seen that grin in some time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought bagels.” Kuro held up a brown paper bag, proof of his successful foraging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee?” Kenma offered, accepting the bag before turning to the machine, the smell of a fresh brew filling the apartment. The depth of the scent settled in his nostrils, spreading warmth into his bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I had some earlier. I’m gonna hop in the shower.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” His eyes washed over Kuro, as though the reason for the transformation would be written somewhere over his skin. He almost asked about it out loud, before deciding against it, instead returning his attention to the coffee, which he now filled the white-mom mug with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if mentioning the change ruined it? Like when Kenma was in middle school, and he ventured out of his bedroom to join the rest of his family instead of holing up with his video games. And upon his entry, his uncle would jokingly comment something like, “Have you finally left your cave?” And he would immediately retreat back into his room out of spite, because he definitely didn’t want to leave his room if everyone made a big deal out of it. That was how he’d felt then, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know how fragile this New Kuro (or, he supposed, Back-to-the-old Kuro) was and he didn’t want to jeopardize it. So he sat at the table with his coffee and minded his own business, with no intention of touching the bagels until Kuro returned from his shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro reappeared with wet hair and fresh clothes and Kenma greeted him with the sizzle of eggs frying in a pan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is that for me?” Kuro cooed, faux delighted as he sunk into his usual spot at the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm,” Kenma returned, scrambling the yolks with a spatula. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro had a very specific way of eating his bagels—he always insisted on a breakfast sandwich, loaded with tomatoes and avocado. And on a pumpernickel bagel, of all things. Kenma preferred sesame bagels with nothing but butter, to the other’s dismay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I make yours then?” Kuro offered from his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I got it.” He’d already cut open the bagels and set them on plates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, I’m getting spoiled today.” Kuro said, attempting to look cute by propping his elbows up on the table, nestling his chin in his hands. The closest that you could get to a :3c face in real life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that hard.” Kenma snorted. “And I’m hungry anyway.” He supposed that Kuro was teasing him because he practically never cooked. Recipes had so many steps and there was no point in learning when Kuro was happy to take over the kitchen anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few moments later, he set the completed breakfasts on the table. He watched as Kuro attacked his bagel, probably needing the energy after using it all on his morning run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what are your plans for today?” He asked tentatively in between small bites. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Kuro spent Sundays nursing hangovers and catching up on the homework he should’ve been doing for the past two days, he’d spent them lazing about in front of the TV, taking cat naps in between episodes of Tom and Jerry. Kenma missed the simple, quiet days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I got a ton of shit to do,” Kuro said, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll probably be out until tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well that was weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too. I have a bunch of homework.” He said evenly, trying to not stare at Kuro, in fear that the other would sense his analysis. But he wasn’t too put off because Kuro said </span>
  <em>
    <span>until</span>
  </em>
  <span> tonight. Meaning that he’d come home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll pick it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but look up at Kuro now. Resisting the urge to make a joke about how dependable Kuro was, he simply nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their meal went more quietly than usual. Every time Kenma glanced up at Kuro, he seemed to be lost in thought, dark eyes holding a faraway look. But Kenma couldn’t blame it all on him, because there was plenty on his mind, too. His conversation with Shoyou replayed over and over in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...you know Kuroo-san better than anyone. So if anyone knows how to talk to him...it’s you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered yet again if he actually knew as much about Kuro as he thought he did. Since they were kids, Kuro had always acted like an old man, uninterested in the high-energy antics of other children. But suddenly, over the past few months, it was as though he’d decided to indulge in every vice that he had missed out on before. And now he was back to normal—another dramatic change. Like an abrupt ray of sunshine through the clouds, Kenma wasn't sure if the break would last or if the rain would return stronger and harsher than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is your bagel with butter not to your liking?” Kuro teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “It’s good.” He mumbled, taking another bite to emphasize the point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro took out his phone and Kenma was grateful for the distraction. It meant that he could stare at Kuro without getting caught. He felt like he’d been doing it his whole life—sneaking peeks at Kuro when he wasn’t looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro’s hair looked so different when it was wet. The water slicked the dark strands back to his scalp, revealing the eye that was usually covered by hair. He looked a lot less emo, more like the honest version of himself that Kenma knew instead of the edgy persona that he liked to show off. Kuro without bed hair was a fleeting image, and there were times when Kenma had to push down the urge to reach over and caress his face. Something he was having trouble doing now, as his eyes had gotten stuck to the tiniest bit of scrambled egg lingering on the corner of Kuro’s mouth. Before he knew what he was doing, his thumb was already there, wiping it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro blinked over at him in surprise. But Kenma made no weird face, no indication that what he did was anything out of the ordinary as he licked the crumb off his thumb. It would only be weird if he made it weird, he decided. Never mind that his heart was suddenly pounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pretended to not see Kuro, who was still staring at him with that weird, wide-eyed expression. Was it really so strange for him to wipe food off of Kuro’s face? It wasn’t like he hadn’t just run his fingers through the other’s hair a few weeks ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d have to react to this, wouldn’t he? Pretending to be less reluctant than he felt, he looked up at Kuro. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That snapped Kuro out of it, and he shook his head. “Nothing.” He stood up quickly. “I gotta head out soon.” And then he retreated back into his bedroom before Kenma could say anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma groaned, the sound drowned out by Kuro’s hair dryer. What was wrong with him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kuroo practically sprinted from the table into his room, plugging in the hair dryer so he could pretend that the redness in his face came from the device rather than the rush of his own blood. He’d always known that he’d liked Kenma—that had never been a question. But he’d never been sure about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kenma’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> feelings. There were times when he thought that Kenma might like him—fleetingly—but then the moment would pass and they’d be back to normal, back to the way they always were, and then Kuroo would go over the millions of reasons that Kenma couldn’t possibly like him. But now he was less sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because there he was, minding his own business, trying to plan out his love confession. And then all of a sudden he felt a warm and soft pressure on his cheek that turned out to be Kenma’s thumb wiping food off his face. That act alone was the most domestic thing he’d ever seen in his life. And to top it off, Kenma ate the food and Kuroo knew he was a mess because he definitely stared at the way that tongue lapped it up and he was truly, pathetically obsessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what made it even worse (better?) was the fact that Kenma had blushed while he did it. Truly a rarity for him, and something that never happened during their casual touches. Kuroo still didn’t know for sure (this couldn’t count as concrete proof) but maybe—just maybe—Kenma liked him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text to: brokuto] the plan is in motion (ತ◞౪◟ತ‵)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>PLEASE DISCUSS YOUR BAGEL PREFERENCES IN THE COMMENTS!!! i live for this discourse</p><p>special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnarchyAngel">dear ana</a> for beta-ing the original version of this chapter</p><p>and thank you for reading ~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Expect the unexpected.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>fortune cookies are never wrong</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnarchyAngel">dear ana</a> for beta-ing the original version of this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kenma groaned, eyes landing on the miniature digital clock on the corner of his computer screen. He’d been in his room for hours, but it felt like years. The awkward feeling in his legs told him that he needed to get up from his desk and stretch, so he did, and it made him feel like less of a blob in his oversized hoodie and unbrushed hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Should he have some sunlight? He’d darkened his room to his liking even though Kuro always warned him against it, saying he needed more vitamin D. What was he, a plant that needed to photosynthesize?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ping.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His gaze wandered back to his computer and he sighed, returning to it like a servant to his master.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[New email from: ar1@JBoxMonthly.net]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Subject: Sponsored content!! BIG VIEWS 1MILLION WOW</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preview: Hi Kedzuko! We are a subscription service looking to sponsor you…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Delete.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He had no idea why so many ridiculous companies wanted to waste his time. They hadn’t even spelled his username right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello. Kedzuko here,” he mumbled in a meme to himself before exiting his email to return to his essay. He had one page done out of four. While it was technically due at 11:59 pm, he really didn’t want to spend the next seven or so hours writing about major economic events in Japan during World War 1. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ping.</span>
  </em>
  <span> [New email from: yuujit@imail.com]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Subject: New video ;)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preview: Hey Kenma! My video of our collab is all done. Let me know when you’re putting yours up…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uuuuggghh.” Right, he had to finish editing their collab, too. It didn’t need to be done right that second, but he was sure that Yuuji would be impatient to get the videos up, especially since the fans had been waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” He cracked open a can of Redbull. “I’m finishing everything tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours later, Kenma felt like he was ready to pass out. Essay: done. Emails worth reading: replied to. Video: not totally edited...But it wasn’t like he could do it in one sitting anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brain throbbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeking some painkillers (actually a glass of water might be better, he hadn’t had any today), he wandered out of his room to find the apartment dark. Shouldn’t Kuro be home by now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text to: blood cell #1] o.o</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes passed, but he received no answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text - delivered] kuro?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judging by the deep growl of his stomach, he was not going to be able to hold out until whenever it was Kuro decided to come home. His irritation grew as he worked his way through a bag of chips, the TV on in the background. Sure, Kuro hadn’t given him a specific time. But when he said he’d bring dinner, Kenma had naturally assumed that he meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>9 PM.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then another hour passed and the bag of chips was empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Calling...blood cell #1]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It went to voicemail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he serious?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just when he thought Kuro was becoming reliable again, he wasn’t answering his phone. And wasn’t this the time he usually went out to party anyway?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as he debated sending another text, his fingers paused over the keyboard. What if Kuro hadn’t really changed? What if it was just a front so that Kenma would get off his back? Or what if he’d tried and then immediately went back to Unreliable Kuro? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the back of his mind, Kenma knew that he shouldn’t be thinking that way. But he didn’t know what to think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another hour of mindlessly scrolling through Twitter as he waited on Kuro, he wanted to throw his phone at the wall. He was always waiting, always on the couch so that he’d be immediately alerted by the click of their door. Always dying to see that head of ridiculous black hair walk in and smile like Kenma was some kind of angel. He was tired of waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma finally retired to his room, curling up in bed with his headphones on. Despite drinking a whole glass of water, his brain still hurt. And no cute cat video could hold his attention, no matter how adorable the little kittens were. He was still absorbed in trying to find the right way to use his attention an eternity later when his bedroom door opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Kuro greeted upon seeing him. “Your headphones are on. I was calling you from the kitchen.” His gaze lingered on Kenma, who returned his searching look with an annoyed one. “Give me a few minutes to set up the table.” Was all Kuro said before closing the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma considered pretending to fall asleep just so he didn’t have to deal with all this. But he never slept this early and Kuro would immediately call his bluff, which would only cause more problems. So when he heard his name called from the kitchen a few minutes later, he trudged out of his room, phone in his hand in case he needed to divert his attention passive-aggressively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was already confused as he walked through the hallway. Why was it so dark in here? He was sure he’d turned on the lights, but understood when he entered the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two long candles were lit over the table, emitting a soft glow as they sat over a fancy white table cloth that really had no business being in their modest kitchen. More fitting of their lifestyle were the Chinese takeout containers that rested beside plates (which they usually didn’t bother with, just eating straight out of the containers). Was this supposed to make up for Kuro’s shitty behavior? He looked over at his roommate, wondering how he was supposed to react. All he got was a blank look, like this was perfectly normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” He asked, still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You texted me?” Kuro asked in surprise, pulling out his phone. Which was, of course, dead. “Fuck, sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma’s mouth pressed into a line. “Your phone is always dead when I need to know where you are.” His eyes scanned Kuro, gauging his sobriety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro tensed up. “I’m not drunk, Kenma.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I wouldn’t be surprised if you were.” The words carried more venom than he’d intended them to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro blinked. “Look,” he began, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages. And you already know I’m sorry about being an asshole. Why don’t we have a nice dinner together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The even tone of the other’s voice did nothing to cool his annoyance. In an act of defiance, Kenma plucked a container off the table and turned his back on the setup, away from the fancy candles and tablecloth, instead settling into the mushy couch, legs curled beneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro looked at him, then the table, then him again. And sighed, picking up another container before sitting beside Kenma. “Are you going to tell me why you’re still mad at me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where were you?” The question flew out of him before he could think about it. He never snapped at Kuro, but here he was, the words practically biting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro’s eyes evaded him. “Nowhere important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it wasn’t important, I think you could tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God,” Kuro shook his head. “Since when are you on my case like this?” His tone was teasing, but Kenma wasn’t having it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have been on your case a long time ago. Before that whole thing with Tsukishima.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro’s face fell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma immediately wanted to take the words back, but his mouth rebelled against him, continuing, “What was that about anyway? I never knew you liked him in high school. Of all the people to sleep with, you really had to pick a kouhai? I thought you’d know better than that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, once the gates had been opened, he was unable to stop. “And then right when I heard about it, it was over? I wouldn’t care if you slept with a million people, Kuro, but I know you’re not happy and you always try to lecture me about being healthy but before this morning you were the biggest mess in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kenma—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He held up a hand to silence Kuro. “I’m not done talking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can keep talking,” Kuro said with a note of amusement that got under his skin. “But why don’t you open this first?” He held up a fortune cookie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuro, I don’t want a fortune cookie right now.” Couldn’t he be serious for once in his life?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really think the fortune will be useful.” He said, suppressing what Kenma knew would have been a shit-eating grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’ll make you shut up so I can finish,” he tore open the plastic, “then sure.” His fingers easily snapped the cookie in half. “I don’t even know why you’re making me do this when you always hate what the paper says.” He pulled the paper strip out, finally taking his burning eyes off Kuro to read the message.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you, Kenma.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Was he having a stroke? Blinking, he read it over again to make sure he was seeing the words correctly. They hadn’t changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still unable to process, he looked up at Kuro. Who looked more terrified than he’d ever seen him, but was trying to hide it with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This couldn’t be fake then. Kuro... loved him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What…” Kenma began before shaking his head, starting over. “Where is this coming from?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The cookie?” Kuroo joked weakly, running his fingers through his hair to keep them from shaking. “Probably a factory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Kenma’s honey-brown eyes just stared at him expectantly. Requiring an explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, uhm,” He licked at his dry lips. “I’ve kind of been an idiot, for a while now. Probably my whole life.” He laughed nervously. “I think I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what love was...When we were just kids and the grownups would talk to us about getting married. And I’d play along and talk about a bride in a white dress, but I couldn’t really imagine spending my life with anyone except you. Not that I’m proposing right now, but uhm.” He paused, trying to form words that didn’t sound lame. Fuck, what happened to the cool speech he’d been rehearsing all day?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I’m trying to say is...Part of the reason I’ve been acting up lately is because I couldn’t deal with the fact that I feel this way about you and I couldn’t tell you. Because—I didn’t want to lose you.” It was hard to keep the strain out of his voice. He really wasn’t trying to cry right now. “But I couldn’t deal with you not knowing how I felt, either. So if I’m freaking you out right now...Fuck, I get it if you want me to move out. But please...please don’t hate me, Kenma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gentle hand reached over to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could never hate you, Kuro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That fucking got him and now he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> crying. His face was in fabric—Kenma had pulled him into a hug that he returned tightly, as though letting go meant saying goodbye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you set up the candles?” Kenma asked gently, running fingers through his hair in a way that sent comfortable tingles down his spine. “God, you’re so cheesy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled, pretending that his eyes weren’t still wet. “This isn’t going the way I planned at all. I was supposed to be all smooth and shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never been smooth in your life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but laugh. If Kenma was being normal now, then maybe their friendship wasn’t doomed after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I give you my answer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo pulled away. “Your answer?” He swallowed. “Right, yeah. Of course.” He wasn’t sure he was ready to be rejected in an official capacity—Kenma had practically just let him down gently—but it was too late to turn back now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been driving me crazy these past few months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded. This wasn’t new information to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And lately I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in love with you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo almost choked on his own spit. He had a million questions, (Is this a joke? For how long?) but he swallowed them down. “You—” It came out too high-pitched. He tried again: “—you are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Kenma tilted his head, teasing. “Should I change my answer?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Kuroo should have been mad that Kenma was poking fun at him when he was in such an emotionally fragile state, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but happiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said gently. “Please never do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one thing for him to take peeks at Kenma when he thought he wouldn’t get caught. Now, he took a special pleasure in directing his loving gaze at Kenma unabashedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no need to hold back now. But his fingers still hesitated before they rose to cup Kenma’s cheek. He didn’t need to worry, though, because Kenma leaned into the touch. He seemed unusually shy, with rosy cheeks and a gaze that didn’t quite meet Kuroo’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d waited for this moment his entire life. Kuroo kissed Kenma, whose lips were softer than he’d imagined. All those years of fantasies, and now, here was Kenma—the real Kenma—giving himself up so willingly. Their lips fit so naturally together that he had no idea why he’d ever kissed anyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma moved closer to him, trapping him against the couch’s arm and releasing a little breathy noise that did something funny to his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t pull Kenma close enough—even a centimeter was too far away. All he wanted was to taste Kenma, a mixture of pomegranate chapstick and an echo of potato chips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted more, more, </span>
  <em>
    <span>more. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And Kenma wanted the same thing, judging by the hand that was so lovingly tangled in his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then his stomach growled. Loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma snorted, pulling away. “You haven’t eaten all day, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Embarrassed, he shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuro, it’s usually me who forgets to eat.” He teased, disentangling himself to sit at the still-decorated table. “Come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to feed me?” Kuroo hurried to his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In your dreams.” But Kenma was already serving chow mein onto his plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he couldn’t be Kenma’s dinner, but he had every intention of being dessert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>BIG THANKS TO MY BELOVED CHAN FOR CREATING THE ART IN THIS CHAPTER!!! she made it for my birthday last year &lt;3 i've never felt so blessed. it's the first piece of artwork i've received based on my writing so i was (and still am) incredibly thrilled :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Tonight, you will be very lucky.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the end</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello~ there used to be smut in this chapter but it has since been edited out. please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kuroo was happy—incredibly happy—but it was almost as though he hadn’t confessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d eaten their takeout the way they always had, and Kenma had stood in the kitchen to wash the dishes while Kuroo bugged him continuously. It was just like any other night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now they were settled comfortably on the couch, watching an action flick. But Kuroo wasn’t really watching. Because why wasn’t anything different between them? He didn’t know what he’d been expecting—maybe that his hands would shake from nerves. Maybe that the couch they spent hundreds of hours on would somehow feel a little softer. Maybe that Kenma would blush a little more, smile a little wider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he realized. Things between them hadn’t changed. Because he’d loved Kenma this whole time, and Kenma had always loved him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His arm stretched over the back of the couch in an incredibly cheesy display, but he wasn’t known for his originality. For a moment, he wondered if it was too cliché of a move, or if it was maybe too subtle. But just as he reached the peak of his worry, Kenma scooted into him, resting his head on his chest. Kuroo felt as blessed as when a stubborn cat strolled over to sit on his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t believe his luck: he was sure that the fact Kenma liked him back meant that he had used up the remainder of good luck for his lifetime. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hummed in reply, looking down at Kenma. Who had such a pretty face that he could now admire openly, even when his hair fell over his cheeks all messily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma’s eyes shifted away. “Can you change the channel? This movie sucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obliging him, Kuroo clicked past a few channels and landed on a rom com. Except his timing was the worst because it was right in the middle of a wild sex scene, the two actors groaning and breathing heavily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah woah!” He joked, covering Kenma’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so annoying.” Kenma huffed, removing the hand. “It’s not even real sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I could cover your eyes if we were watching real sex?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma didn’t miss a beat. “Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to watch real sex?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brain short-circuited. “I—what? I thought</span>
  <em>
    <span> I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the pervert, Kenma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> the pervert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How am </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>the pervert in this situation?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma leaned back, the picture of calm as he clicked his tongue in disapproval. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that night, laying in bed, Kuroo didn’t know why he’d gotten all worked up. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made the association before—Kenma with sex. Kenma was the person who most frequently made appearances behind his eyelids when his hand went in his pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this was new. And with Kuroo’s dating history—well, he didn’t want to scare Kenma off. Unlike all of his other relationships (“relationships”), this one was actually important to him and he didn’t want to fuck it up. So after spending the next hour or so beside each other, not touching more than very basic cuddles and the occasional brush of hands, they’d parted to their separate bedrooms with quiet “good night”s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had felt like the right thing to do, he decided as he stared up at his ceiling in the dark. But then why did it feel like something was missing? Like he’d never been so touch-starved in his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew the answer to his own question. It was because he’d gotten a taste of Kenma and he was hungry for more. He wanted to kiss Kenma and hold him in his arms and snuggle into him shamelessly. But it would be selfish of him to jump into things when he had no idea how comfortable Kenma was with all this. After all, during all of their years of friendship, he’d never seen Kenma date anyone before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only reference point he had was their own relationship, and they’d never been particularly affectionate. Sure, there’d be the occasional outlier, like if one of them was sick or depressed about something. But other than that, it was unchartered territory. And he’d been so out of it these past few months, testing Kenma’s patience, that the last thing he wanted to do now was to act selfishly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bzzt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked against the bright light of his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text from: kenma :3c] are you awake?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>He was now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text - delivered] yeah</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A whole minute passed before he received a reply:</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text - 12:02 AM] can i come for a visit</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo typed out a joke about how they technically lived together and it wouldn’t be much of a visit, but then deleted it. Instead, he sent out a “sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then came the quiet</span>
  <em>
    <span> tap tap tap</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Kenma padded to his door, before peeking his head in. Spotting an awake Kuroo, he entered, gently closing the door behind him. “I couldn’t sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat upright and scooted over, patting the space beside him as an invitation for Kenma to sit, which Kenma took, turning on the bedside lamp as he sat. As Kuroo’s eyes adjusted to the light, he took note of Kenma’s loose braid over his shoulder and his clothes—he’d changed from sweatpants into red shorts that rode up his thighs as he settled into his spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s on your mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just so we’re clear,” Kenma began, gaze sharp, “We’re exclusive, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That one kind of stung, but it was a fair question. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we’re boyfriends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That statement alone undid whatever hurt he’d been feeling a second ago, setting a couple butterflies loose in his stomach. “If you’ll have me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I’ll have you,” Kenma deadpanned, edging closer to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo chuckled. “Is that all you wanted to ask me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah.” He paused, meeting Kuroo’s eyes. “I also wanted to hang out with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo’s hand reached out to pull him closer, but paused mid-air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honey-brown eyes caught the motion before he could pull away. “You can touch me...I won’t scratch you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Won’t you, kitty cat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Kenma cupped his face. “I like you too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made Kuroo </span>
  <em>
    <span>blush.</span>
  </em>
  <span> God damn it. Was he still a teenager? What was he all red for?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t lose like this. In a surprise attack, Kuroo grabbed Kenma and flipped them over so that they were both laying down in his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuro!” Kenma said, fending off tickling fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a devious chuckle, he gave up, instead laying beside Kenma and pulling him close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was...warm. Kenma’s hand was warm against his cheek, warm brown eyes staring at him with fondness, their bodies pressed together and sharing heat. What had he even been thinking before? He didn’t need to have sex with Kenma; there’d be time for that later. Right now, all he needed was to be together like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo didn’t know how much time had passed. They talked in low voices, sharing giggles and kisses. It seemed like no time had gone by, but some Kenma fell asleep, lashes against his cheek and parted lips emitting slow, even breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would never let Kenma worry about him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night, kitten.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to Kenma’s forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost immediately after closing his eyes, he fell into a peaceful sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>special thanks to <a href="https://anyrchyangel.tumblr.com/">dear ana</a> for beta-ing the original version of this chapter</p><p>also! i thought i’d explain why i edited out the smut: 1) it was badly written 2) it seemed strange to me that kuroo and kenma rush into the sexual part of their relationship when a lot of their problems came from kuroo doing the same thing with other people. this version just makes more sense to me!</p><p>anyway, the next chapter is the epilogue~ see you there</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Your fortune is as sweet as a cookie.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>domestic fluff (epilogue)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>right after wrapping up edits, i found <a href="https://twitter.com/qreedling/status/1355888339908349954">this video</a> on twitter. it suits the chapter very well ( audio: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7EvwIw4gIyk">willow by taylor swift</a> )</p><p>special thanks to <a href="https://anyrchyangel.tumblr.com">dear ana</a> for beta-ing the original version of this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo blinked awake to greet the brightness of the day, skin warm where the light touched it. Just as he was about to reach his arms up for a cat-like stretch, he felt a weight shift against his side. He smiled. Kenma was in bed beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His boyfriend. Fast asleep, cuddled into Kuroo’s chest, his half-bleached flyaway hairs sticking out of his braid. Curled comfortably under the covers. It was enough to melt Kuroo’s cold heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bo wasn’t gonna fucking believe this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was so much Kuroo had to tell his best friend—he’d have to cook up a dramatic rendition of the events. But for now...well, he wanted to enjoy the image of a peaceful Kenma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A picture would last longer, wouldn’t it? He grinned to himself, carefully reaching over to his bedside table to nab his phone and steal a silent photo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text to: brokuto] [image attached] guess what happened ;)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he silenced his phone to avoid the inevitable shitstorm of texts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Came the soft mumble as Kenma blinked up at him. “You’re moving too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, kitten~”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remind me why I agreed to date you again?” Kenma asked, burrowing deeper into Kuroo’s chest, as though to absorb all of his bodily warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry but the store doesn’t allow returns.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. I should’ve checked the receipt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the sleepy gremlin soon quieted with a few nuzzles to his hair and a few kisses to his forehead, humming contentedly at the touches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My boyfriend looks so pretty today~”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma turned his face away, but Kuroo still caught his blush. “Shut up. I look like shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, is someone feeling shy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being extra annoying today.” Kenma smacked him with a pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m happy!” Kuroo laughed, only to receive another pillow to the face as Kenma scampered away. A moment later, he heard the shower turn on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe cats do like to get wet,” he said to himself, before picking up his phone. And sure enough:</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text from: brokuto] NO FUCKIN WAY</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text - 9:15 am] BROOOOOOOOOOO</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text - 9:15 am] CALL ME. RIGHT. NOW</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was followed by about a dozen more texts. Which left him no choice. “Hel-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bro you fuckin’ snatched Kenma? What the hell?! Did your plan work? What did he say? Tell me everything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’d be great if you could let me get a word in,” he said, amused as he leaned back against his pillow. “Here’s what happened…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still recounting the details when Kenma finished his shower, wringing his hair out in the doorway to Kuroo’s bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma adjusted his towel over his head. “Did you just say ‘love was pouring from my eyes’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bokuto, don’t believe any of this bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto’s loud laugh rang through the phone. “What happened after love poured from his eyes, Kuroo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma scoffed. “Fuck you guys. I’m calling Akaashi.” He settled back on Kuroo’s bed, calling Akaashi to complain about both of their boyfriends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo couldn’t ask for more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>♤♠♤♠♤</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you let me keep the balloons this long.” Kuro said, flashing Kenma a smile in the mirror as he buttoned up his shirt. They were obnoxious red hearts boasting the number 5, withered and deflated from staying in the air for two weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just to spite you.” Kenma said from their bed, watching from over his phone. “I told you I didn’t want to do anything for our anniversary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I had to do everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really had done </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Balloons, flowers, sweets, presents. And then Kenma had pressed a receipt in his hand—listing an impressive donation to a local animal charity in Kuroo’s name—and actually brought his boyfriend to tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I still won.” Kenma pointed out with a smug “blep.” It wasn’t a competition, except it kind of was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see about that.” Something mischievous glittered in Kuro’s eyes as he tied his tie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma didn’t like it. What was Kuro planning? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway. I gotta go, kitten.” Kuro walked over to the bed, where Kenma was waiting for his goodbye kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Kenma could, he pulled Kuro down, deepening the kiss. The outside world and responsibilities often stole his boyfriend away, but for just this moment, he could hold all of Kuro’s attention, feel his skin heat up, make him gasp, and tangle needy fingers into untamed locks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kenmaaa,” Kuro whined, pulling away and lightly batting away his hands. “If you kiss me like that, I’m never gonna leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna be late! I’ll see you tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma watched him leave, annoyed that he had to go. But it was also a good thing, he supposed. Kuro being gone meant that he could put his plan into motion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kuroo walked into the lab, pulling on his white coat. There wasn’t really a point to wearing one, considering that they were doing simple psychological research, but it definitely made him feel like a professional.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s it going, Kuroo?” asked his fellow graduate student, who was always amused by his permanently disheveled state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember you asked.” He grinned devilishly, ready to unleash a truckload of information onto his unsuspecting coworker. “My boyfriend is driving me crazy because we get really competitive about our anniversary. And he won the last round but I’m gonna unleash something wild. It’s been two weeks already, so he won’t be expecting a romantic surprise. He’s been looking way too smug lately.” He clenched his fist, determined. “I’m going to get him a cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you allergic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Despite Kuroo’s obsession with cats, any time he’d be around them for longer than two minutes, he’d start sneezing. “But I’ve looked into treatments and stuff and I’m gonna do it. He’s always wanted one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s awesome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew it was. And what was even better was that Kenma had no idea it was coming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>♠</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kuro had no idea what he was in for. Kenma’s tracks were covered not only because of his elaborate anniversary present, but also because of how much he’d been gloating for the past two weeks. That would really make it seem like he was done, except he was nowhere near done. It would have been nice if he’d been actually able to carry out his plan on their anniversary, but he’d ended up needing more time—the donation had been his backup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was just getting ready to set up his gaming stream when he heard the familiar </span>
  <em>
    <span>bzzt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Text from: tetsurou (¬_¬) ❤] work kinda blows. can we stay in tonight?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>[Text - delivered] sure. i’ll get dinner</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Within seconds, Kenma received a gif of a cat surrounded by hearts. Unable to handle the sudden burst of love in his heart, his fingers clutched at his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours later, Kenma was standing in the kitchen of their new house, inspecting their bags of Chinese takeout. They didn’t have it as often anymore, but it was still their favorite thing to eat together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything needed to be perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was just about to wonder what was taking Kuro so long when his boyfriend appeared at the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Kenma greeted, immediately stepping forward for his hello kiss. “Did they hold you up at work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro obliged him with a smooch. “Nah,” he held up a box, “I got dessert on the way home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why the special treatment? Are you still trying to beat me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling you, I’m gonna win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma clicked his tongue. “You wish.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It then became a waiting game. Eating at the table, chatting about their day. Finally, when the last bites of noodles were slurped up, Kenma spoke. “I’ll clean the plates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I got it.” Kuro volunteered, rolling up his sleeves. “You get the dessert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.” Kenma retrieved the box from the fridge. It was...light. “Did you forget to bring the pie home?” He joked, pulling open the cardboard lid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The box was empty, save for a few pieces of paper at the bottom. “What’s this?” His fingers lifted up an adoption paper for… “A cat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just beneath the certificate was a photo of a blond kitten. A kitten named— “Apple Pie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup.” Kuro leaned against the sink, grinning in satisfaction. “We can go pick him up tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, you really—” Kenma laughed, finding Kuro’s lips to give him a kiss. “But your allergies…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pair of arms wrapped around Kenma’s waist. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not allergic to you, am I, kitten?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut uup.” Kenma groaned, the flutter in his chest betraying his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do actually have a real pie, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro went to get the actual apple pie, leaving Kenma to wring his hands in the kitchen. He was caught between the dramatic love and excitement he was currently feeling (and pushing away the hundred questions about their new fuzzy housemate) and the anxiety over revealing his own surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He managed to play it cool over their plates of dessert (though he did end up asking all hundred questions about Apple Pie). He wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up—it had to be subtle, or Kuro would pick up on his scheme.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, wait,” Kuro said, peeking into the bottom of the takeout bag. “Kenma, our tradition! We forgot the fortune cookies.” He lifted them out of the bag, tossing one to Kenma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma smiled, amused. It seemed that Kuro was doing the work for him. “Open yours first.” Was it obvious that he was holding his breath?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, you always make me go first.” Kuro snorted, breaking open the plastic. “Maybe it’s some kind of conspiracy.” He cracked open the cookie, eyeing Kenma. “Why do you always make me do this again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma’s voice dripped with impatience. “Just read it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay.” He slipped the paper out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tetsurou Kuroo, will you marry me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro blinked. He looked at Kenma, then at the paper. Then back at Kenma. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma shifted on his feet, taking on a deadpan tone. “Obviously, you’ll be Tetsurou Kozume from now on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t get a chance to tack on another quip because Kuro occupied his mouth with a kiss, cupping his face with warm fingers. He was overcome with relief, Kuro’s warmth, and the taste of sweet cinnamon sugar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro pulled away, just far enough to drown in Kenma’s eyes. “Yes. I will happily be Mr. Kozume.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I was just joking about that...” Kenma didn’t know why he was fumbling—his words, his fingers. He clumsily reached into his pocket to pull out the small black box that contained a silver ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuro grinned as Kenma slid the ring over his finger. It fit perfectly. “I don’t care. I’m yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was Kenma’s turn to pull him into a kiss, yanking him by the collar. A motion that made his fiancé nearly laugh against his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” Kuro said, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “You win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...It’s a tie.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <b>excerpt from the original end note:</b>
</p><p>i want to seriously thank all of you--those who read this story, who gave kudos, and of course those who commented (y’all get an extra heart &lt;3)</p><p>i know that this story is a flawed one, but it is incredibly important to me because it is the first long-term project that i’ve ever finished. when i was younger, i wrote a lot of fanfiction, but could never see it through to the end. i’m so proud that, after struggling with my writing for a long time, i’m finally in a place where i can say that i’ve completed something.</p><p>you didn’t know it, but you were a part of this journey, and i thank you for taking it with me. i’m glad to say that i’ve made some friends through this story :D and i hope to make more as i continue writing. </p><p>
  <b>end note from 2021:</b>
</p><p>well, folks. it’s been a year x) </p><p>ever since i finished writing this story, i’ve wanted to come back and edit it. now that i finally have, i can let it rest in peace.</p><p>afifc is quite different from my other writing, and i’m happy that i got to experiment with it. it has allowed me to grow in so many ways. genuinely, i wanted to thank you for your strength and support in supporting my craft &lt;3 please stay safe</p><p>feel free to check out my:<br/><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/spadebrigade/works">other fics</a> | <a href="https://spadebrigade.carrd.co/">carrd</a> | <a href="https://www.instagram.com/spade.yy/">instagram</a> | <a href="https://spadebrigade.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> | <a href="https://twitter.com/spade_yy">twitter</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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